


End of the Road

by cypheroftyr, The_Arkadian



Series: Reflections [13]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Multi, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 498,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypheroftyr/pseuds/cypheroftyr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: Following the destruction of the demon Nightmare at Adamant, Fenris and his mirror counterpart accidentally end up in the wrong worlds, switching places. How will they get back home? And how will they both cope and adapt in two very different worlds?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finds himself in the wrong Thedas, and begins to to realise how lucky he has truly been back in his own world.

Invictus backed away from the elf he’d thought was his husband and tried to get himself under control. “Which one are you?” he asked.

The warrior glanced at Invictus then to the knives that were too close to his face for comfort before looking at Anders. “Leto, I’m Leto.” 

“No, this isn’t possible. How the Void did you come back with us instead of our Fenris?” Vic shouted, ready to shake the elf as if it would get Fenris to return to them. 

Anders had shrunk away, pulling Ellowynne with him as Zevran took a step closer to this stranger with Fenris’ face. The blond mage stared from Invictus to the white-haired elf, bewildered and unnerved.

“Fenris, what - what’s going on?” he said, voice shaking a little. “Vic, this... are you saying this isn’t our Fenris?”

Ellowynne disentangled herself from her father and crouched in front of him, drawing the knife from the sheath at her hip as flames danced upon the upturned palm of her other hand. “I don’t know who you are, but we’ve dealt with the likes of you before,” she hissed. “And I shall never let my father be hurt again!”

“I’m not a demon, I’m from another Thedas. I am mortal, trust me as much as I ache, I am aware of that.” Leto said as he stared at Anders’ daughter.

“Yes, in the rift we encountered several versions of our love. Including one that is called Leto.” Vic said tiredly. 

“You... you mean... you mean our Fenris is back there?” whispered Anders, horrified. “He’s - he’s still in the Fade?” He stared up at Leto. “Where is my husband?” he asked softly. As Leto stared up at him, Anders clenched his hands into fists and repeated it, louder, as he slowly got to his feet.

“I said, _where is my husband._ ” He took a step forward towards this strange white-haired elf, a fey, desperate look in his eyes. 

“Daddy -” began Ellowynne, staring up at him worriedly. Anders pushed forward past Zevran.

“Damn you, _WHERE IS MY HUSBAND??_ ” he screamed.

Leto shrank back against the bedroll and stared up at the angry blond. “In my Thedas, if they grabbed him and led him back as Invictus did to me. I’m sorry, I didn’t do this on purpose. Please believe me that I wanted to go home too,” he said as he watched this man who he’d just seen weep in joy approach him in fury.

“Anders, calm down. It won’t help anyone if you have another turn. Just back down and breathe. You’re putting a fright into me, and if you terrify him it won’t help him tell us what happened,” Vic said as he tried to get Anders to stop his advance.

Anders stared at Leto; he was trembling, a look of hopelessness slowly replacing the wild fury that had been there a moment before. “You brought the wrong one back,” he whispered, and abruptly all the fight seemed to go out of him as his shoulders slumped. “You - you brought the wrong one back.” He finally looked at Invictus, and then his knees gave way as he collapsed to the floor to stare down at the ground. “You... he... no, this is wrong, wrong!” he moaned. “Fenris... oh Maker, Fenris!” He made a low sound of pain as he slowly doubled over, gasping for breath.

“Daddy?” said Ellowynne, as she took a hesitant step towards him. Zevran swiftly placed himself between Anders and Leto, his eyes still hard and angry as he stared at the other elf.

“Imp, go get your dad’s pills. They’re in that rucksack by my staff,” Vic said as he watched Anders and Zevran carefully. He was distracted by his step son entering the tent, asking what in Dumat’s mercy was wrong with them.

The young elf’s appearance made Leto gasp, and crawl backwards on the bedroll and try to claw his way out the other side. “No...this is too much, you can’t be here too. This is too cruel,” he said as he failed to get away from the younger version of himself.

“Papa? What’s wrong with you, I thought you’d be happy to see me?” Cal asked before he noticed the unfriendly way that Zevran was staring down his father and that Anders looked on the verge of another bad turn. 

“Stay back, Callus,” snarled Zevran as he circled around slightly so that now his blades were between Leto and Callus as well as Anders. “This is not your father. And this one claims to be no demon, but we have heard that before. I will not allow this creature to harm any of you. I failed before, but I will not fail again!”

“Zev,” gasped Anders as he lifted his head. “Wait... Vic, you... you swear... he’s just a mirror version? not a demon?” The colour had drained from Anders’ face and he looked ill and grey as he hunched over slightly.

Zevran took a slow step towards Leto, his face strangely blank and mask-like now. “If he moves then we shall see if he bleeds red or black,” he said softly in a voice devoid of colour or inflection. Anders looked up at him with something akin to horror as he realised that Zevran was wholly Crow at this moment, the yellow eyes merciless as they bored into Leto.

“Zev,” whispered Anders. “Stop.”

“And let him harm you? I would sooner die than see you harmed, my heart.”

Anders shivered to hear how emotionless Zevran’s voice had become. “Zevran. Don’t do this. Look at him; he’s no threat to anyone here. Please. For my sake. For Ellowynne’s sake. Maker, _please_. Don’t kill him. I’m begging you.”

Leto hadn’t heard them, all he could do was stare at Callus and hope he was losing his mind or that fate wasn’t so cruel as to drag him to a place where his son yet lived. He had pushed himself against a pole, yet he still tried to flee from the painful visage of his son.

“Zevran, look at him. No demon could look like that. Besides, I saw him fight and bleed red in the Fade. He’s mortal and from the looks of it in a bad way for seeing Cal,” Vic said as he tried to get the former assassin to back down from murder.

“What do you mean this isn't papa? Are you all mad? He looks a bit worse for wear but that’s my father,” Cal insisted.

“No, not alive, not here. Not alive,” Leto repeated as he curled away from everyone and tried to will himself anywhere but there but he didn’t know where “there” was. 

“Zevran,” Anders tried again. “Please. Love, don’t do this.” He stared up at the blond elf, an swallowed hard before he closed his eyes. “Zev... I need you,” he murmured. “Help me. Please.”

Zevran halted, and finally a flicker of emotion crossed his face as he lowered his knives slightly. “ _Mi cuore_?” he said softly.

“Zev... my chest hurts,” said Anders, his eyes still closed. “I need you.”

The former Crow blinked, then glanced over his shoulder at Anders, who was clutching at his chest. All at once he had sheathed his blades and moved to Anders’ side, dropping to his knees beside the stricken mage as he reached for him. “No... no, my heart, see - Zevran is here, you are safe!” murmured the Antivan as Anders slumped against him, face still white. Ellowynne wordlessly passed the small box of pills to Zevran and the elf took them. Ellowynne glanced up at Leto, then looked over to Callus. 

“Cal,” she said in a low, urgent tone. “Where’s Pin? And Marian? Go fetch them, quick!”

“Where did you come from?!” Cal asked as he realized Ellowynne was in camp. 

“There’s no time to explain, just go get Marian and Pin!” Vic ordered before looking at his husbands and this stranger that looked like Fenris. Zevran had managed to coax a couple of the pills into Anders, who now rested half-reclining against the elf, his eyes closed, one hand still pressed against his chest as Ellowynne gently brushed his hair out of his face.

“Daddy?” she murmured quietly.

“So tired,” Anders said weakly. “Vic? I’m so tired. Want... want Fen....”

“Stay with us, _mi cuore_ ,” said Zevran gently. “I did not mean to distress you so. Please... open your eyes, Anders.”

“Love, come back to us please,” Vic begged as he knelt next to Anders. “Please don’t go, I can’t take it if you do.” 

Leto had uncurled after hearing Callus’ leave the tent, but what he saw distressed him almost as much. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want this,” he said from where he had leaned back against the tent wall to watch them. 

Ellowynne glanced up at him. “My father has a weak heart,” she said. “Healers have done what they can for him, but this....” She looked down at her father worriedly. “Stay with us, daddy,” she begged softly. “Please!”

“Not... not going anywhere,” Anders sighed. “Just very tired.”

“Please, Anders,” pleaded Zevran. “Open your eyes; I beg of you.”

Anders opened his eyes slowly, his gaze going to Invictus. “Sorry,” he murmured weakly. “Didn’t mean to frighten you all.” He looked around, his eyes seeking out Leto. “I... I believe you,” he managed. “No demon could ever look as you do now.” He smiled sadly. “My Fen must be just as lost.” He turned his face away and closed his eyes. “I miss him so much,” he breathed.

Zevran buried his face in Anders’ hair and gave a low sob.

**

Fenris was too warm and someone was on top of him. It felt wrong though, the sheets were soft but he had last slept in a bedroll. Why was he in a bed and whose arm was wrapped around him like that? 

The elf opened an eye to find Dorian was cuddled up to him, topless and snuggled close to him. He looked around, sure he had to be dreaming or worse; possibly still in the Fade as he saw the dark wood bedpost and thick curtains. He tried to get up without rousing the mage with him, but found himself pulled closer with a whisper of _amatus_ in his ear as he tried to get up.

“Dorian Pavus, what did you call me?” Fenris asked in shock.

Dorian opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at Fenris. “ _Amatus_ ,” he repeated. He studied Fenris’ face as he steadily woke up, and then a mortified look crossed his face as he sat up before he glanced away and ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “Well, this is embarrassing,” he murmured. “You... you’ve changed your mind then? After what you said in the Fade, I....”

Hurriedly he pulled away and rose from the bed, snatching up his silk bedrobe and belting it on as he started to pace. He laughed, nervously. “Well... I’m not quite sure what to say,” he said, his voice a little high and wavery. “Though perhaps I should have expected it. After all... perhaps I was foolish to believe after all we’d been through that -” He broke off and pressed his hand to his mouth and made a little stifled noise of distress.

“No, it's not that. I’m just confused. I remember sleeping in a tent, not...where are we anyway?” Fenris asked as he sat up and reached for Dorian’s hands. “Help me, I don’t know what’s going on right now and at least I woke up to someone I know,” the elf admitted. 

“You mean....” Dorian broke off as he turned, and the distressed look gave way to one of relief.

“What’s wrong? Other than me being confused,” Fenris asked as he tugged Dorian back to him. He had no idea why he was in a nice bed, and Dorian was there rather than his husbands but it wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared a tumble before; he was definitely confused about things however.

Dorian moved slowly back towards the bed. “Forgive me, _amatus_ ,” he said, almost shyly. “After all, back in Tevinter we both know that this -” He gestured to the bed then to to himself and Fenris, “- would be as far as we could take things. I suppose I learned never to expect anything more. I’ve....” He sat on the edge of the bed and glanced away, his voice dropping to scarcely more than a whisper. “I was afraid that you had changed your mind. I... think I was almost expecting it.” 

“We’re not in Tevinter though, and we can do this _amatus_ ,” Fenris replied uncertainly along with wondering where in the Void Meneris was and why Dorian was calling him love.

Dorian toyed with the trim on the edge of the bed throw, staring down at it as he gave an odd little sad smile. “No... we’re not, are we? You must forgive me, _amatus_ ; this Fade business has thrown me rather off-kilter, and with our grand Inquisitor even more so than usual thanks to his demon -” He broke off and shivered slightly. “No,” he murmured. “I’ve said too much and we can never be too sure who may be listening. He’s so paranoid these days....”

Fenris nodded and let his gaze stray to where Dorian played with the comforter. “I don’t mean to worry you further, but ...did I hit my head or anything? I’m having a hard time remembering getting back here and the end of the fight.” 

Dorian looked up, worried. “You _were_ rather out of it at the end there,” he said slowly. “That explosion knocked us all off our feet and all you dragons out of the air - I didn’t notice any signs of bleeding but that wouldn’t have meant anything - you heal so fast, after all. But if you struck your head then that would explain why you weren’t able to shake it off and heal yourself How are you feeling now?”

“Confused mostly, and a bit achey. Just how did we get back here so quickly?” Fenris asked.

“That red dragon fellow opened a portal that somehow sent all of us to our own respective worlds; we all found ourselves in the courtyard here at Skyhold. Anders went off in one of his foul moods so I brought you straight up here to my rooms to recover. Thankfully Zevran was lurking about nearby or I should never have been able to get you up the last few stairs alone; you were a dead weight by that time.” Dorian regarded Fenris with a look of worry. “You remember nothing? Nothing at all of our return?”

“No, I remember falling and that’s it. I’m so sorry for worrying you after that fight. I’m glad you were able to get me back here. Is there anything else I should know?” Fenris asked softly. 

“Other than His Lord High and Vengefulness being on the warpath as usual?” replied Dorian drily. “No, not really, unless....” He glanced down again, toying with a loose thread on the sleeve of his robe. “Do you... remember what you said? Just before that last fight? About....” His voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. “About... us?”

Fenris shook his head and sniffed. “I’m so sorry...I know you wouldn’t call me _amatus_ without meaning it. Can you remind me please?” the elf asked.

Dorian lifted his head, his grey eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I thought - I hoped....” His voice wavered a little. “You - you called me _amatus_ and said it was time we ended this dance we’ve been doing for over a year and - and take things further; I assumed - and when I got you to my room, you... you held me and....” He looked away, blinking rapidly. “Oh dear. Oh dear, this is....”

Fenris tugged Dorian to him and hugged him. “Please don’t cry, it will be alright _amatus_! I’m sure I’ll be fine after some more sleep and maybe food. I don’t want to hurt you, alright?” the elf stared up at the ceiling in supplication to whatever might be listening that he got out of there without harming Dorian further. He hated seeing the other man upset, but he wasn’t sure how long he could pretend. 

Dorian nestled into Fenris’ arms, trying to swallow down the tears that threatened to fall. “You - you must think this frightfully silly of me,” he tried to smile. “My nerves are rather frazzled after all that’s happened; I swear my heart was in my mouth when I saw both you and that other version of you lying there on the ground. And of course it was all rather distressing at the end, with the red dragon fellow holding his lover - I didn’t really get much chance to talk to the fellow before he died, but he seemed a decent man and he really didn’t deserve to die like that. After the things Nightmare said, I was terrified that you wouldn’t make it out of there. I’m just a little overwrought; I’ll be alright in a little while.”

“I’m overwrought myself to be honest. Any chance we can get food sent up and maybe sleep a bit more? Maybe it will help me feel better, I’d be happy if you stayed with me… _amatus_ ,” Fenris said before pulling back to wipe at Dorian’s face. 

“Sleep... yes, food and then sleep is likely what we both need,” sniffed Dorian as he dabbed cautiously at his eyes then winced at the traces of kohl on his fingers. “Dumat, I’m a mess. Let me go call for a runner to go fetch food, _amatus_.”

“Of course love, now that I’m awake I could eat a horse.” Fenris said with a smile before leaning back against the pillows to watch Dorian for a clue as to what was going on. 

Dorian rose to his feet; tugging the robe closer about his body he crossed to the door and leaned out, looking both ways before beckoning over a runner and talking to him briefly then stepping back and closing the door. He made his way back to the bed slowly, running one hand through his hair as he gave a low sigh. He managed a smile for Fenris however as he returned to the bed and then threw himself down next to Fenris.

“Do you know, when we got back I was so very thoroughly tempted to drown myself in wine - had I not been so concerned for you, I think I might have done it. But I would far rather share with you, _amatus_ ; I swear you’re the only fellow in this whole damned fortress who appreciates a decent vintage. It’s wasted on the others - and I’m not sure why our esteemed Inquisitor keeps such a copious wine cellar for he never touches a drop himself. But I’m rather glad he does. What say you - shall I take a wander down there later after we’ve eaten, and perhaps liberate a bottle or three just for us?” He grinned up at the elf.

“That sounds like a damned good idea, I could use a drink or five after that fight.” Fenris said as he slipped down to run a hand over Dorian’s chest while he pondered what he meant by Anders not drinking. He knew damned well that Anders enjoyed a fine vintage just as much as he did. “His High Vengefulness is a new nickname.” he remarked while traipsing his fingers over the magister’s chest.

Dorian stared up at him and blinked. “Hardly - you gave him that nickname yourself, Leto!” he said, a look of confusion in his eyes. “That fall must have scrambled your brains more than we thought if you’ve forgotten that! No wonder you can’t heal yourself yet. I brought back your staff, by the way - but it sounds like you won’t be using it for a while yet. Maybe the wine is not such a good idea after all....” He gestured over to the corner of the room; glancing up, Fenris spotted a familiar mage’s staff - which he had last seen being wielded by his counterpart.

“I’m fine to have some wine, it might help calm me.” Fenris replied as he kept staring at the staff. “I don’t think I’ll need to heal myself, more sleep and food will help me out.” He glanced at Dorian then back to the staff as he tried not to panic. 

“If you’re sure, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian dubiously. He followed Fenris’ gaze then glanced back. “Let me bring your staff over; you always get so antsy without it,” he chuckled. “Honestly, we’re perfectly safe in here - but I will indulge you as always.” He sat up and gave Fenris a quick kiss on the nose before rising to fetch the staff. He leaned it against the wall on Fenris’ side of the bed, within easy reach, giving Fenris an indulgent smile before circling around the bed and crawling back onto it to lay down beside Fenris.

“After that fight, I’m totally fine not touching my staff for a while,” Fenris responded, almost edging away from the weapon. “In fact, I think I want to take up the blade again.”

Dorian stared up at him, and gave a nervous laugh. “Who are you, and what have you done with Leto?” he said incredulously. “Dear heart, why on Thedas would you turn back to the sword?”

“Would you believe seeing that other me made me miss the feel of it in my hands? I’m being maudlin, just ignore me,” Fenris said with a wary glance up at the other man. 

Dorian had gone very still. “That’s not what you told me in the Fade,” he whispered. “You told me that you pitied him because he hadn’t found his magic yet. You said... you said you could not imagine ever taking up a sword again.” His eyes held a hint of fear and anger. “Who are you?”

The elven warrior swallowed as he stared into Dorian’s eyes. “Would you believe that other Fenris who hasn’t discovered his magic? Seems we got mixed up on the way out,” Fenris replied as he fell quite still. 

Dorian leapt up and rapidly backed away from him, eyes widening. “You... you mean....” He turned away as he ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “Oh Dumat - damn me. Damn, damn, damn me. I brought the wrong man back.” He whirled back to Fenris, his eyes still wide and a look of horror in their storm-grey depths. “I am so, so sorry,” he breathed. “This is all my fault. I just picked you up and dragged you through the portal and -” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “My Leto. My _amatus_. Where is he?”

“My guess is in my world, at least I hope so. I doubt that Vic would have grabbed that Fenris that was with that rather nasty Hawke since he was always with her. The question is how to get us back where we belong? And how can I avoid the Anders here, since he’s...well more demon than man,” the elf said. “I’m sorry for this.”

“Oh dear, this is all rather terrible,” sighed Dorian as he turned back to face Fenris. “I’m afraid that would rather arouse suspicion; Leto has always been the one who has held him in check. He is one of the few people capable of standing up against Vengeance; there appears to be something about their shared history that gives Leto some hold on him - I’ve never known exactly what, but there have been times when Anders has been on a tear and Leto said but one word in his ear and... Anders would become quite a different man.” He groaned. “ _Vishante kaffas_ \- if you cannot control him then the Gods only know what devilry he’ll get up to in Leto’s absence. And we dare not let him know that you are not Leto; there’s no telling how Vengeance might react.”

“I can’t fool him! Look how soon you found me out and I know very little of Leto’s past aside from him still suffering from Endrin’s death. I didn’t get much chance to talk to him but he didn’t give me any clues as to what his life is like, aside from being unhappy and lonely,” Fenris admitted as he stared at Dorian. 

“You’ll find it hard to fool Zevran as well, I dare say,” replied Dorian as he began to pace. “And I must confess I am not entirely sure where Zevran’s loyalties may lie. He is as much Anders’ Left Hand as Leliana was once the Divine’s.”

“Was? What happened to her? In fact who makes up the Inquisition here? Leto did tell me he’s in charge of the army. So I’m guessing Cullen never came across Anders? This is going to be a fool’s errand to try and pass me off as your Leto,” Fenris despaired. 

He listened as Dorian went over their roster, of Leto being in Cullen’s role, Zevran as their spymaster and Crow Master more than his husband ever was. Bull was dead, killed because Vengeance didn’t trust the Ben Hassrath, despite him becoming Tal Vashoth order to prove himself. What got him to blanch was news of Callus’ demise. 

“My son...is dead here, but how?” he gasped. “What of his sister, or...mine?” Fenris dared ask.

Dorian halted his pacing and stared down at the floor for several long minutes before he was able to look up and return Fenris’ anxious gaze; there was a look of deep sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry, _amat-_ ” He broke off and swallowed. “Fenris. It... it was very hard on Leto. He joined the Chargers. A mission... went wrong, he took a hit - a bad one. They were able to get him back to Skyhold but....” Dorian shook his head sadly. “There was... there was nothing that could be done. He lingered for a few days and finally died in his father’s arms. Leto... laid him upon the pyre himself, stayed there until - until there was nothing left and - and he took to his rooms, would see no-one, for a full week. He... he has never been entirely the same since. I’m deeply sorry.”

Fenris looked away at the news of how this world’s Callus had perished. He felt himself crying for the young man, though he knew his son was fine. Or he’d hoped, he never saw him or Pin after the fight. For all he knew, his own children could have died in the fighting. The thought of never seeing them again made him cover his face as he tried to hold back tears.

He heard Dorian draw closer, and then the Tevinter magister hesitantly laid a hand upon Fenris’ shoulder. “I am so terribly sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to distress you. Is there... is there anything I can do?”

“Got an Eluvian stored away so maybe I can try to get home?” Fenris asked through tears. “I’m sorry, it hit me that I don’t know what happened to my own children after the fight. For all I know maybe they didn’t make it, and if that’s the case it might be kinder to kill me than to live through that kind of grief.” 

He wiped at his face and glanced at Dorian. “Well, if we’re going to pretend I’m Leto, I might as well get used to being called that. And well...I’m no stranger to the version of you in my world, but he’s married to the Inquisitor there. It won’t be bad, being with you. I’m sorry I’m not him though, its damned unfair for you to lose him for now and get me.”

“I’m afraid that Solas took control of all the known Eluvians; I don’t think that they would be useable,” said Dorian apologetically. “But I’ve been researching methods of travelling through the Fade - a sort of extension of Fade stepping, if you will - and perhaps I may yet find a way to reach out and find a way back to your own Thedas. I swear to you, Fenris, that I shall set aside all my other work and I shall not rest until I can send you home - and I hope most fervently that your children are fine and well.” 

He regarded Fenris sombrely. “The deception shall likely be only too easy for me; you and my Leto look identical, after all, and I have nearly slipped several times already and found myself about to call you by his name. I do hope you can forgive me should I slip and forget myself. And I hope your Inquisitor is a kinder man than the rather petty face he seemed to show us at times in the Fade. If my counterpart in your world has married him then he must have some charm to him that perhaps was not apparent in such trying circumstances - he did at least appear to have friends and the loyalty of your companions however, which is more than can be said for the monster that holds the title in our Thedas.” He frowned. “Frankly I think I should sooner slit my own throat than share a bed with that creature; it would likely be a far cleaner death, for a start. Vengeance shares a bed with no-one, man or woman; Leto stays only to hold him in check, and I remain solely for Leto’s sake or I would have fled here long ago.”

“Meneris isn’t all bad, though his behavior before the fight puts that to a lie,” Fenris said softly as he considered the staff next to the bed and Dorian.

“My name was Leto, before my old master did this to me; and I used to answer to it for Inquisition business. I was the ambassador to Tevinter along with our Dorian so it's no hardship to answer to it. Sharing a bed with you won’t be one either, if it helps keep up the ruse. The problem is I am no mage, so unless you can unlock whatever magic I might have, I fear we’ll be found out quickly.” The elf gave him a half smile before picking at the threads of the bedding. “If you’d rather not, I will understand. But you’re probably the only friendly face here for me. If Zevran is as cold as you say, he won’t be like my husband, and I know this version of Anders is not what I left at home.” 

“I cannot answer for Zevran,” said Dorian as he glanced at the staff, a troubled look in his eyes. “I never can fathom what he might be thinking. His face is like a mask, giving away nothing; he kills with no emotion. It is easy to see how he rose to become Crow Master; some say Zevran Arainai has no soul. And yet....” He glanced back to Fenris. “There seems to be some accord between he and Leto; they have shared a bed on occasion, though I am not sure the feeling is anything more than a curious kind of friendship. Leto and Zevran seem to have... an understanding between them. I have always been most careful to keep out of the way of their... relationship. Our own has been a dancing around the question of what we were to each other but I suppose you have seen for yourself that at least upon my part, there is love and a desire for something more than the skin deep.” His voice became distant and wistful. “I... I can only hope I did not read more into his words to me in the Fade and that I will not have my heart broken upon his return. And I _have_ to believe that he will come back, because... because I do not know what I will do if he does not,” he finished in a tone of hopelessness.

“How very touching,” said a voice from the shadows behind the curtain. As Zevran stepped out into the light, Dorian retreated with a scream of startled fear.

It was easy to see just why Dorian was so unnerved by the Crow. Unlike Fenris’ own Zevran, there was a cold remoteness about the Antivan, and Fenris could instantly see what Dorian had meant by the elf’s flat, mask-like affect. His golden eyes seemed to be the only living part of his face as they glittered in the candlelight. He was dressed all in black; soft fabrics that gave no sound and seemed to absorb all light as he moved further into the room, his leather boots silent upon the carpet. Even his armour was black, the scale-mail sleeves that covered his arms matt black and reflecting no light. Though he bore no weapon that Fenris could see, Fenris had no doubt there would be several secreted about him.

And unlike his own Zevran, this man did not limp. He walked with the casual, fluid grace of one whose very body had been honed into a weapon.

This Zevran was a killer. And if he had a soul, then it was hidden.

He smiled, briefly; it was cold and didn’t touch his eyes. “Dorian,” he said softly. “You talk too much.” He glanced to Fenris, the smile already absent. “And you... are not Leto.”

“I was, once. But you’re correct I’m not the one that belongs here. I suppose you plan to kill me then? Or report back to that demon that’s in charge?” Fenris’ voice went just as unfriendly as the other elf’s gaze upon him. He smiled at the smaller elf, almost eager for a chance to go at him; but if this Zevran was anything like his before being crippled it would be a hard fight. 

Unexpectedly, Zevran laughed. “Kill you? No. Not until I have reason to. For now, it amuses me more to let you live. And why would I report to Anders? Your presence here is... hmm, intriguing, but I think it none of his business unless you should threaten my position here or endanger the Inquisition. We have greater threats to deal with than one lost elf.” He glanced to Dorian. “And besides... I must give dear Dorian here some reason to work towards restoring the equilibrium. I think were I to kill you, it might prove... hmm, how shall I say this?” 

He stalked towards Dorian, who froze as the Crow circled around him slowly to stand behind him before he pressed himself against Dorian’s back and rested his chin upon the magister’s shoulder. “A distraction, hmm?”

He chuckled as he lifted a gloved hand to trail it down the side of Dorian’s face in mockery of a lover’s touch; Dorian had gone pale as he held still. Zevran’s eyes were on Fenris as he turned his head and kissed Dorian lightly upon the cheek before stepping away.

“I wish Leto returned for my own reasons. So. I let you live, I say nothing to Anders. I may even be persuaded to _assist_ you in your little charade, yes?” He folded his arms and regarded Fenris thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side.

Fenris continued to stare at the shorter elf as he pondered how fast he’d have to be in order to strike him and not get stabbed with a poisonous blade for his trouble. “If you plan to go along with the charade, then you should call me Leto and let us be affectionate without the creepy behavior. I hope to Mythal I never, ever see my Zevran like this.” He refused to show the assassin any sense of being bothered by him. 

Instead he continued to stare down the Antivan, unwilling to look at Dorian and give him any fuel for changing his mind about helping them, little assistance that he expected to get. 

Zevran moved towards him in a manner that could only be described as a prowl. Slipping around the bed on silent feet, he trailed one hand from bedpost to bedpost as he drew closer to Fenris until he was leaning over the white-haired elf, yellow eyes gazing into green, one hand braced against the headboard scant inches from Fenris’ head.

“And so, would you bed me for such a charade?” he purred. His smile was predatory as he gave Fenris a smouldering look. “Do you think you could bring yourself to touch me?” He leaned in closer until his lips were almost touching Fenris’ lips, his breath warm upon Fenris’ face. “To kiss me?” he whispered.

 _“Right now? Not if my life depended on it,”_ Fenris replied in Antivan, his expression angry as he leaned back as far as he could get from the other elf. “You’re taking too much delight in this and I’ve learned my lesson about bed partners that give the wrong kind of pain. You wish to assist in keeping the truth from the demon? Give me information on Leto, on your ...whatever it is you do with him. You already heard Dorian, and right now I’d rather anything but the thought of you touching or kissing me, Arainai,” he finished in Trade. 

Unexpectedly, Zevran threw his head back and laughed as he straightened. “Oh, you... you, I _like_ ,” he replied. “You have a _fire_ in you, yes?” He stepped back and gave Fenris a bow with a flourish. “You pass. I shall help you. You are my Leto’s equal, I think, and for that? Yes. I want my Leto home, much as Dorian does. So. I shall assist you.” 

He circled back around the bed and then walked slowly around Dorian, coming to a stop in front of the magister to pat his cheek. “Do not look so worried, my friend,” he chided. “I will not kill this man. I have not been paid for his death and he has done nothing to earn my blade. But he has certainly intrigued me.” He turned on his heel and walked back towards the bed, smiling at Fenris. “So. Zevran Arainai is at your service. What do you propose to do? And I should warn you now that it is best to tell me the truth, or I shall find out sooner or later and I do not like being lied to, hmm?”

“First off let me dress without you staring at me like I’m on the sale block, second leave Dorian alone,” Fenris said as he sat up and looked around for whatever he’d been wearing. “Third, I’m Leto from now until whenever I get home. What I propose is to fake being Leto until I can get to an eluvian, or we figure out a way through the Fade. What do you know of the Fade Arainai, hmm?” he asked acerbically. 

The smile left Zevran’s face. “More than you might think,” he said quietly. He held Fenris’ gaze. “I spoke truly. I will aid you. You will need my assistance against that demon who walks in Anders’ skin. There is still a human man in there, but the demon has him trapped within his own mind. One day I will free him with my blade, but now is not the time.” He turned slowly until his back was towards Fenris and he was facing Dorian once more.

“If the short amount of time I did get to speak with Leto tells me anything, it's that he expects to free the human left in whatever Vengeance is walking around now. Moving on to you and Leto, what is your relationship and how do I not give myself away?” Fenris had found his tunic and thankfully was still wearing sleep pants. After he tugged it over his head he went over to Dorian in the hope he would snap out of his fear. 

Zevran glanced to him. “We were friends. Occasionally lovers. Between us, we kept Vengeance in check. Should he seem about to kill, speak the name ‘Ella’ to him. You must follow my lead. We are not affectionate in front of others, but when we think ourselves in private, Leto would touch me. He is... forceful. Dominant. He leads and I... submit.” He glanced to Dorian. “He is the only man I could ever submit to in that way. I would kill any other who would try to claim my body in the way I give it to him. Zevran Arainai is no-one’s whore.” A note of bitter vitriol had crept into his voice as he glanced away. 

“I would not try and do that to you, as I have the opposite relationship with my spouse in my world. I have no desire for such a thing, but I will put on airs to keep up the pretense. I can’t afford to … in private I could not feign affection for such a cold, dark version of my love. I will follow your lead in other things however,” Fenris admitted before taking Dorian’s hand so he could lead him to the bed.

“So, Ella is a trigger word for him as well; figures. What other things should I know? I am no tactician, that is where I may also fail in this charade. I know nothing of leading the armies of the Inquisition, just small squads here and there,” the elf said with a glance to Dorian before zeroing in on Zevran again. 

“Much of what you need to do involves paperwork,” replied Zevran. “My network of spies bring much of that paperwork to me before I in turn would set it before him; most of his decisions are ones I would make myself. So. I shall deal with the paperwork - the requisitions, the troop orders, everything - and then we shall make a pretense of me bringing it to you. From time to time you may need to lead some of our forces in person. When that happens, I will go with you to advise you; we shall say I am merely overseeing my own agents in person. It is something I do often, so no-one will think this strange or unusual.” Zevran shrugged as he turned and started pacing. 

“I shall endeavour to keep the Inquisitor’s attention distracted,” he went on, waving one hand airily. “This will be no trouble; I know various ways and means to distract him without endangering myself.” He turned and flashed a quick grin. “A thing which many of us have learned to do.”

Dorian swallowed then retreated back towards the bed. “Yes, we have indeed. It is never safe to let Vengeance’s eye linger on one for too long; it only allows his paranoia to grow, and that is when he is at his most dangerous.” He seemed to be slowly recovering from his fright, though his face was still pale.

There was a sudden knock at the door which made Fenris and Dorian start; Zevran merely smiled. “Gentlemen, I believe your dinner is served. I shall leave you in peace.” He glanced to Fenris. “I trust you know where to find me.” He gave them a bow with a flourish, then turned and opened the door, ushering in the servant bearing a tray of food.

“I bid you goodnight!” he smiled, and then he was gone.

Fenris gave the servant a nod of thanks, waiting for them to leave before speaking. “I hate him,” he muttered before seeing what they had been brought. He was glad to see no fish, nor other dishes he wasn’t fond of. “At least Leto and I share the same tastes. Come and eat, standing around won’t change things, and I’m starved.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Dorian as he came to join Fenris at the table. “I’m afraid the man frankly terrifies me - but then he terrifies everyone I think, save Leto and the Inquisitor. I’ve always kept out of their way when Leto and he decide to... _liaise_ with one another; generally Leto takes himself off to the rookery. He’s never told me what they do, and frankly I’ve been happier not knowing.” He poured them both a glass of wine then took a hasty gulp of his, his hand shaking slightly.

“He doesn’t sit well with me either. I’m surprised Leto would have anything to do with him,” Fenris said before pouring himself a drink. “I am truly sorry Dorian, I know I’m not who you wanted to wake up to.” The warrior filled a plate, acknowledging his hunger finally and not trying to think about what his loves were up to with the other him in their midst, or if they had realized something was wrong.

“I shan’t deny this has been rather a shock, but whilst you may not be my Leto I... I hope that we may become at least friends. It would be considered strange if we did not share a bed but I promise I shall keep my hands to myself.” He stared down into his glass of wine and gave a small sigh.

“You don’t have to,” Fenris said with an impish grin. “I’m more than familiar with the Dorian of my world. My husbands and his allow us to have fun, and we do care for each other. I don’t know if it has become more than me being his _amicus_ but I would not be opposed to us taking that path. If he cares for me beyond that, I’ve never had the nerve to ask; and I admit I’ve nearly slipped and called him _amatus_ myself. I might as well have one good thing while I’m trapped here.” The elf went back to his food, sure he went too far in admitting his feelings for the magister at home.

Dorian set his wineglass down very carefully, his hand trembling badly now. “You are not my Leto; though you look exactly like him and you have the same mannerisms and speech, it would be wrong for me to indulge myself with you in that way... but at the same time, though I fervently hope his words to me in the Fade were a sign he wishes us to take things further, he has not expressly and explicitly said as much to me. So I suppose in that regard I... I am free to share myself in that way with whomsoever I choose.” He lifted his eyes slowly to return Fenris’ gaze. “And I imagine there might be... gossip... were we to avoid that kind of activity; Leto has always been a virile man and we have never held back when either of us had - had that kind of urge.” 

He stared back down at his plate, a blush spreading across his face as he suddenly seemed unable to look Fenris in the eye. “So what I am trying to say - and, I fear, making a terrible hash of it - is that I, I would - I would not be adverse to... to sharing physical affection with you. That is - if you should wish that. From me.” He swallowed hard and hastily reached for his wine glass.

The warrior smiled before rising and pulling Dorian into his arms. “I can be...aggressive with him, my Dorian. Tell me how you like it and I’ll do my best to make this fun for us.” He leaned in to nuzzle at the other man’s neck, pleased that this Dorian even smelled like his. “Being a dragon, also the sense of magic does things to me and I can be a lot to handle in bed. I shouldn’t - but right now? This is all that’s keeping me from going to pieces on you and neither of us wants that, hmm?” Fenris even bit him a little, losing his worries as he let his baser instincts take over.

Dorian gasped then arched his neck a little as though mutely inviting Fenris to mark him with his teeth. “Aggressive... yes,” he murmured. “My Leto is often aggressive with me. I... crave it. To feel his strength as he pins me down and has his way with me. I can take all he can give, believe me. I have felt his claws and... Dumat, Fenris - if you do this much more, I am afraid you will soon have me begging....”

“I’ve never used my claws like that, but fangs are something he loves. What do you want, tell me,” Fenris asked before turning them towards the bed and almost carrying the magister with him.

Dorian sprawled upon the bed, his hands going to the sash tying his robe closed, his breath coming faster. “Teeth,” he gasped. “Yes - teeth are good... if you bite me again then I may very well lose my self-control. Leto loves to bite me and I enjoy indulging him. I also love the sensation of his claws running down my back before he takes me. Do you... do you enjoy being rough?” There was a faintly hopeful look in his eyes, the pupils blown wide and dark as he stared up at Fenris and pulled open the robe, revealing tawny naked skin.

The elf grinned at him before tugging his tunic off and loosening the ties to his pants. “Yeah, we don’t get too rough since he doesn’t like bruising that lasts for long. I like it when I get roughed up a bit myself.” Fenris crawled over him and resumed biting at Dorian, even letting his claws out just a bit. “Do you ever switch up, take him like you want me to do right now?” Fenris asked.

“Rarely,” replied Dorian breathlessly. “But it does happen sometimes. Mostly he indulges my desire for something... rough. It has gone as far as making me bleed and frequently I’m bruised afterwards, but then Leto can heal me up.” He swallowed hard as he stared into Fenris’ eyes. “I... like it when he makes me scream,” he confessed in a whisper. “I think people have gotten rather used to hearing it as well. They might think it odd were I to be... quiet. Tell me, Fenris... do you think you could make me scream as loudly as he does?”

“I’m sure of it, I mean I’m built exactly the same as him. I’ve also not had a good, hard fuck in a while thanks to the march to Adamant.” Fenris pinned Dorian’s arms over his head as he considered him. “Since I can’t heal you, let’s have a word for me to not go too far. Or should we just say I can’t heal yet since that landing rattled me? Cause I ...feel my control slipping.” 

Dorian gave a faint moan as Fenris pinned his wrists down. “I- I have potions,” he managed to get out. “I-In the box beside the bed. You can take this - take me - as far as you wish. As you need.” He ground his hips up against Fenris. “Please,” he begged in an almost frantic whisper. “Take me. Now.”

“Remember to call me Leto,” the elf said before pulling back just enough to strip and pull at Dorian so he could get him open. “Fuck, this should be the last thing on my mind but you look so damned good. Do you always walk around like this, no trousers. Just eager for him, ready?” Fenris said as he rooted around for oil. 

Dorian managed a breathless laugh. “I never wear anything beneath my robe when we’re together. Leto likes to be able to have me when he pleases, and it pleases me for him to have me as often as he likes. And believe me, if you get me to the point of screaming then I shall forget all too easily that you are not Leto.” He closed his eyes as he shifted slightly upon the bed. “It will be his name I scream, not yours. Just... be gentle with me afterwards. I am likely to forget myself in the moment, and I apologise in advance if I should find myself weeping afterwards.” 

“I won’t leave you alone after, not if you are in a bad way. I might forget...that you aren’t my Dorian. I’m sorry if I ...now’s not the time for that. We can talk later,” Fenris said as he uncorked the oil and reached under the mage, pleased at how the other man spread himself for him and stared at him like he wanted Fenris to do what he pleased. 

Dorian closed his eyes as he felt Fenris begin to push a single finger into him and groaned as he canted his hips slightly so that Fenris could push deeply. “More,” he breathed. “I can take all you can give.” He licked his lips and opened his eyes to stare up at Fenris. “Break me,” he begged.

“Stand up,” Fenris ordered, his hand slipping free just enough to let him rise. “You asked for it, _fuck_ ... have you asked for it,” he said as he let his fangs slip out and pulled his claws back in. 

Dorian stood and stared down at Fenris. “Yes, I have,” he murmured. “What are you -” As he felt Fenris begin to thrust two fingers up into him, he gasped slightly then spread his legs a little further apart. “Oh... yes... harder,” he breathed.

The elf grinned before leaning forward to take Dorian into his mouth, all while adding another finger. He sucked hard, deep and fast. He wasn’t trying to make the other man come, yet but he knew what his own Dorian liked, especially when he was in a mood to get roughed up. Fenris pulled away to catch his breath, but didn’t stop moving his hand. “More of my fingers, or want me to fuck you Dori?” he asked. 

Dorian’s breath was coming now in panting groans as he pushed himself back onto Fenris’ fingers with each thrust. “F-fuck me,” he managed to get out. His legs were trembling slightly. “Oh please, fuck me!”

“Such a good boy for me. Say my name Dorian, say it as I take you,” Fenris said as he pulled his fingers free and shoved the other man to his back. “I love it when I can get rough with you, so eager for cock.” 

Dorian spread his legs, hands hooked behind his knees to open himself wider for Fenris. “Give it to me, Leto!” he begged. “I need you!” 

As Fenris rammed himself fully into Dorian in one hard thrust, the magister threw his head back and screamed. “Leto! Ah - _Leto!!_ ”

“That’s it, scream for me, let them all know who you belong to,” Fenris growled in his ear as he stroked hard and fast, each thrust making a slapping sound in the room. “Beg for it, beg for my cock Dori,” he panted. Dorian’s breaths were coming now in ragged, pained gasps between cries of Leto’s name.

“Oh please, Leto - give me your cock!” he begged. “I need it - need - ah, fuck! Fuck, Leto!” He bit his lip and whimpered. “Oh, that hurts - please, harder!”

“Gonna take you against the wall, make it really hurt like you want,” Fenris said as he picked Dorian up like he weighed nothing and slammed him against the wall. “Always like fucking like this, going to make you scream yourself hoarse.” 

Dorian threw his head back and gave an agonised scream that tailed off raggedly as Fenris pounded into him; he panted, eyes closed. “Leto... Leto!” he managed to gasp out. “P-please....”

“Please what? Please let me come ser, please fuck me harder, ser?” Fenris said before pulling out and forcing him to stand. “Spread and raise your hands against the wall, you don’t come till I let you.” 

Obediently, Dorian turned and pressed himself against the wall, hands raise above his head and pressed flat against the smooth plaster. “P-please, ser,” he managed, voice cracking slightly. “Please... fuck me h-harder....” He was trembling slightly, eyes closed, his body sheened in sweat.

“Such a good boy for me.” Fenris purred in his ear before sliding back in, grabbing Dorian’s wrists and pounding him harder, faster than he had been. He lost himself in how pliant the other man was, how eager and happy he sounded to be getting fucked nearly senseless. Dorian cried out at every thrust, his voice rising into a wordless keen as Fenris pounded into him with bruising force, the magister’s cock trapped between his body and the wall. Words were finally beyond Dorian, reduced to a sound of pain and pleasure combined, his awareness focused down to the sensations of Fenris wrecking him.

“Want to come for me, be a good boy and paint that wall? Yes or no?” Fenris asked as he eased up enough to let Dorian speak but not by much. If his Dorian could have seen him, he’d have been terrified, aroused or both. 

“P-p-please...” Dorian managed in a pained, wheezing gasp. “-please... ser... let....let me come!” He gave a low moan, his eyes closed, his cheek pressed against the wall, hair dishevelled as sweat rolled down his face and down his back.

“Go on,” Fenris snarled before sinking his fangs into Dorian’s shoulder as he picked up his brutal pace. 

Dorian screamed, high and loud, and then came hard, his body shuddering, until finally he could only gasp, pained, at every thrust as Fenris chased his own orgasm. He tried to shape words but had no voice left; his legs were shaking badly and he was only held up by Fenris pinning him against the wall.

Instead of filling his bedmate, Fenris pulled away and shoved Dorian to his knees. “Open your mouth, want to paint that pretty face of yours,” he panted before stroking himself, eyes closed as he started to come, not looking again until he looked down to see the other man fallen to his knees before him, debauched, face covered with a few strings dripping from his open mouth. “Damn,” was all the elf could say before leaning against the wall, shaking and near tears.

Dorian gagged slightly then managed to swallow, his eyes closed, before slumping slightly. Then he collapsed to the ground, body shivering. He lay unmoving for several long minutes as Fenris braced himself on trembling arms against the wall, leaning over him; and then Dorian slowly curled in on himself, shoulders shaking as he began to sob silently.

Fenris stood up unsteadily before getting warm cloths and soap to clean them up. After getting himself clean as he could, he picked up the other mage and wiped his face clean, and gently swiped the oil away from Dorian’s thighs, his cock before pulling the covers back and getting them settled. He rubbed his thumbs over his cheeks and sighed. 

“Dorian...talk to me please. I’m sorry if I got too rough but it was so good, so damned good with you. You can hurt me if you want, I like that actually but I never can get them to do that to me no matter how well I beg. I forgot myself, you’re so good Dori, it was ...one of the best times I’ve had. Please look at me!” Fenris begged.

Dorian finally managed to lift his head. His kohl was smeared, his eyes red with tears. “L-leto,” he managed to whisper. “N-need....” He pressed a hand to the bloodied bite on his shoulder, the glanced up with a bewildered, lost look. “Leto...h-healing?” he managed to breathe. “Hurts....”

“Easy, easy. Let me get you potions and clean that up more.” Fenris slipped out of bed to find a tray of potions, even lyrium and a stamina potion and wine to settle their nerves. He pulled Dorian into his arms, and let him slowly drink one of the larger potions while he kept a careful eye on him. As the healing potion began to take effect and the pain and discomfort receded, Dorian seemed to come back to himself gradually until the lost look left his eyes and they seemed to focus on Fenris more clearly.

“Leto?” asked Dorian quietly. “No... Fenris.” He tried to smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you like this.”

“Call me Leto, we have to keep it up,” the elf said as he leaned in to kiss the other man’s forehead. “It’s ok, it’s really ok if you call me that. Besides...you were very good for me,” Fenris said shyly. 

“I’m afraid that I will forget myself,” confessed Dorian. “It would be too easy for me to start thinking you are my Leto.” He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “I miss him. This is... forgive me, this is all very hard for me just now. Coming on top of what we just faced in the Fade, and after listening to that ghastly demon.” He opened his eyes and reached for the glass of wine. “ _Venhedis_ , I’m sorry. I’m being terribly selfish, wallowing in my own self-pity when it’s _you_ who is facing the far worse wrench of being torn away from your own world.”

“Dorian, it’s ok - really. At least I’m stuck with you and believe me, this was not hard on me. Well... it was a little hard on my back. For now we just need to adjust, see what we can do to keep the ruse up until your research pays off. Until then, we have fun and ...I think we’ll both have a hard time forgetting that I’m not your Leto. If you forget, I forgive you in advance; just do me the same favor?” Fenris stared at him, occasionally brushing away tears as they fell. 

Dorian sipped his wine slowly; it seemed to revive and settle him as he sank back against the pillows. “If it was hard on your back, you should feel what it was like to be on the receiving end,” he chuckled weakly. “I begged you to break me and I do indeed feel thoroughly broken.” He glanced over at Fenris. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand, I....” His voice trailed away as his gaze wandered down and halted at the obvious tenting of the covers over Fenris’ groin. “... oh,” he finished in a small voice. “Y-you and Leto... are _very_ alike indeed,” he managed. He swallowed hard then glanced up at Fenris. “Do you... do you need another round, _am-_ ”

He broke off and hastily took a gulp of wine.

Fenris gently tipped his bedmate to face him again. “Say it, it would be too strange after what you both declared before the battle. _Amatus_ , say it Dorian. It's ok, I don’t mind,” he said with a slight hitch to his voice. “Let me play pretend so I don’t fall apart, please,” he whispered.

Dorian set aside the glass of wine as he stared up into Fenris’ eyes, his own glimmering with tears. “ _Amatus_ ,” he managed, then bit his lip. He closed his eyes as the tears began to fall once more, and then he buried his face against Fenris’ chest as his shoulders shook. Fenris could feel his tears, wet and hot against his skin as Dorian cried.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry _a--am--amatus_ ,” Fenris said before he wept, his face pressed into Dorian’s hair as he let guilt eat at him for enjoying the other man so thoroughly, and wanting more while he had no idea what was going on at home.

Dorian pulled himself together with an effort. “Leto,” he whispered. “Take me again. Exhaust me, so I can sleep and forget everything for a while. I know you still have need. Take me, use me, wear me out I beg you. I don’t care how sore I will be in the morning - for now I just want to forget everything.”

“I don’t want to really break you. I can’t heal you, unless you find a way to see if I do...if I do have magic like Leto,” Fenris finished. “That will break me, I don’t know how he felt about finding out but it may well send me into a deep, dark place I won’t be able to come back from.” The elf stared at Dorian before pulling the covers back so he could kiss him, re-discover this other version of his amicus.

“Not break,” sighed Dorian. “Only wear me out. Please. I swear, this - I will not break. Just... just take me. Be as gentle as you wish, only do this and let me find peace somehow. I - I shall beg. Please.” He stared up at Fenris, then pushed himself up to kiss Fenris with an air of desperation, as though he could coax the elf that way.

“You’ve done enough begging today, think you can ride me or are you all worn out?” Fenris said as he caressed the mage gently, wishing he could fling himself into a deep hole and not see any version of Dorian look so damned broken.

Dorian lifted a hand to stroke his fingers gently down the side of Fenris’ face as he smiled sadly. “I don’t think I have the energy to ride, _am -_ ” He halted and closed his eyes briefly. “ _Amatus_.” He drew a deep breath and opened his eyes to stare up at Fenris. “I just want to feel you inside me; exhaust me, make me come one last time, just...” He blinked away another tear. “I need to be so exhausted that my mind will be quiet,” he confessed. “Right now it’s racing around in circles and I just want it to stop.”

“As you wish, _amatus_.” Fenris was gentle with every movement, unsure about giving it to him so rough he made the other man scream, but Dorian wasn’t a quiet man in bed or otherwise. The elf held his hand rather than pinning him, each pant a slight call of his name. Dorian writhed beneath him as Fenris took him, his own gasped breaths a tenor counterpoint that rose to a final cry of “Leto!” as Fenris finally brought him to climax, his eyes closed, his body pliant and unresisting as Fenris chased his own climax afterwards. 

As Fenris braced himself over Dorian, panting, the sweat dripping from him, the magister slowly opened his eyes and gave Fenris a tired smile. 

“Thank you,” he breathed faintly. 

“You’re welcome,” the elf said softly before leaning in for another kiss and forcing himself to get up before he tried for a round three. “Would you mind if I took a little walk around? I won’t go far but ...I’d rather not go to pieces in front of you after such a good time,” Fenris asked as he cleaned the mage up again. 

Dorian regarded him drowsily, already more than halfway asleep - exhausted, wrung out and finally at a form of peace. “Alright, _amatus_ ,” he slurred sleepily. As Fenris drew the covers up over Dorian, the magister finally slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

“What a damned mess,” Fenris uttered to himself as he dressed and reluctantly considered the staff but left it alone. He found himself heading up to the rookery out of habit, though the door was locked; which his Zevran never did. It wasn’t like he couldn’t take out anyone foolish enough to make an attempt on him. He checked his belt, and was relieved to find his lockpick set; a gift after he’d finally managed to meet his husband’s demanding expectations. 

After slipping in, he found the room darkened beyond what a human could see but it was no issue for him, or an Antivan elf. He walked slowly, sure the space was trapped but what he heard stopped him short. That could not be what he was hearing, not from this man. 

Zevran Arainai was sat, hunched over and curled in upon himself, sobbing bitterly - a heartrending weeping, a sound of someone who had been utterly devastated beyond words. An empty bottle of brandy lay on the floor by his feet; a single solitary raven was perched on the back of his chair as he sat there, face buried in his hands, hair dishevelled where it had been tugged and yanked in a fit of despair. 

“ _Mio amore_ ,” the Antivan managed to breathe out between ragged gasps. “Forgive me, I - I could n-never t-t-tell you, and... and n-now I never c-can!” He moaned as though mortally wounded. “Gone, gone, and I am too late! Oh, Zevran Arainai is truly the most wretched creature in existence this night!” He let out a cry of despair and fell forwards from the chair onto his knees then wrapped his arms around himself and doubled over, scarcely able to breathe for sobbing, unaware he was no longer by himself, the ravens his only witnesses. It was clear that this was something he could only do alone in the sanctity of his room, and Fenris couldn’t escape a horrible guilty feeling that he was trespassing on an intensely personal expression of grief. 

The Tevinter elf remained still as he watched this version of his beloved unravel. Zevran’s grief made him feel as if he was getting punched repeatedly until he took an incautious step forward. 

At the sound of his foot scuffing on the wooden floor, Zevran jerked upright, eyes wide, his face wet with tears as he stared into the shadows. “Wh-who is there?” he cried. 

Instead of speaking, Fenris came forward so he could be seen. He knew there was a chance that Zevran could lose himself to anger, at being seen at his worst but he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Forgive my trespass?" 

Zevran stared at him, shivering slightly, unable to speak. His eyes were wide in disbelief, raw pain still clear upon his face as he knelt there, looking small and vulnerable in his dishevelled state. He swallowed and tried to speak but nothing would come as he stared up at Fenris. Finally he managed to talk. 

“Have you come to kill me, then?” he asked in a small, despairing voice. 

“Never, not any version of Zevran could make me kill him,” admitted the elf as he approached slowly. “I came here out of habit, and it was foolish to enter you domain but when I heard you I couldn’t just abandon you to your grief. If you wish me to leave, I will go,” Fenris offered. 

“Stay,” whispered Zevran, and then softer, “Please.” 

“My Zevran has had these moments, there is no shame in it. Can I do anything for you?” Fenris asked as he sat by the smaller elf and extended a hand. 

Zevran bowed his head. “No-one has ever seen me like this,” he said quietly. “Not even Leto. I have too many enemies, all too few I can trust - much less call friends. I dare not show such weakness before them. I am drunk and a fool, and were you one of my enemies then I should deserve to have my throat slit for making myself such a tempting target.” 

He glanced up at Fenris from behind his tousled hair. “You would make the perfect assassin, my friend. I never heard you upon the stairs, and you look so much like Leto that were I a little more drunk I would have taken you for him.” He straightened up a little and threw his head back, tossing his hair over his shoulder and out of his face as he held Fenris’ eye, tilting his chin up a little. “Do you speak truly? You do not seek my death? And here am I, such an inviting target.” He smiled sadly. “I would make such a pretty corpse, no?” 

“No, as I could no more harm you than I could my own version of you back home. We’ve hurt each other a few times but never when I was in my right mind. Or he when I trespassed so badly I drove him from me, the bed we share for a long time. I would not take your life, not when you seem to be where I am upon realizing I was not home.” Fenris got closer and stared into the other elf’s eyes. 

“I know you said Leto is aggressive with you, that he dominates where you allow no other to do that to you. In my world? It's the other way around, my Zevran gives me what I crave when I need to get out of my head, to give in and let him lead. Would you wish that of me then? To trade pain for pain in exchange for your help?” the elf asked quietly. 

Zevran‘s brow creased in a small frown as his gaze became unfocused. “Did I say that?” he murmured than glanced away. “I lied... mostly. He is not the only one who uses my body so. If that is the price of your loyalty to me... well. It is only the same price I have paid to others. But Leto... he was the only one who has ever not taken that for granted. Every time, he has asked me. Asked my permission before laying a hand on me.” He smiled suddenly through tears. “And he was the only one for whom that was never necessary. I would have given him everything. I _did_ give him everything. Even that which I did not think I even possessed....” 

He glanced back at Fenris with a sad, drunken smile. “They say that Zevran Arainai has no heart. It isn’t true, you know. He has one. I think it might be broken, and Leto is the one who broke it.” He held one hand out towards Fenris. “Will you, then, break me? Shall I play the whore for you, too?” 

Fenris took his hand, but was slow to do more than grasp his fingers. “Never the whore for anyone. I offer you my submission, my compliance to make this work. Please, don’t say that about yourself, it is...it reminds me too much of my own love and his ...issues.” He dropped to his knees slowly and stared up at the elf before bowing his head and waiting. 

“I don’t understand,” said Zevran, his frown deepening again. “I... what are you doing? Why are you kneeling?” He leaned forward and nearly overbalanced; he caught himself with one hand braced against the floorboards. “Excuse me,” he muttered. “I... I am very drunk, I think.” He patted Fenris’ shoulder. “Sit up. Sit up! I need to look at you.” 

As Fenris straightened slowly, Zevran was frowning at him. The Antivan straightened and gestured at him. “Why are you doing this? What am I supposed to do with this? Are you trying to hurt me further, by offering me what I could never have?” He tried to laugh but the sound came out awkwardly. He reached to his hip and drew his blade; despite his drunkenness, he managed to spin it between his fingers before he held it out towards Fenris, the hilt towards the white-haired warrior. “Here. If you wish to hurt me then let me help you. Here. Take it.” 

“No, I meant what I said about not taking your life.” Fenris glanced up through his hair at the blond elf. “I offered my compliance, my service and submission to have your help with being Leto until I can get home and you both can have him back. I can’t dominate you, I have my reasons. If you will not take it now, know it is on offer to fulfill the deception. If you won’t have my servitude, name a price.” 

Zevran stared at him uncomprehendingly. “You... I do not understand you,” he said slowly. “You want _me_ to dominate _you_? You do not know what you are asking of me. I would sooner take this knife to my own throat than lift a hand against him; what makes you think I could do that for one who has his face, his voice?” He let the knife fall from his hand and glanced away, running a hand through his hair distractedly. 

“You want my help, I already gave my word I would help you. What are you asking of me?” He got slowly to his feet, the knife forgotten, as he stumbled over to his desk and picked up an unopened bottle of brandy. 

“I know you gave your word, but I am offering more.” Fenris said as he watched the elf fumble with his bottle. “Allow me to help you?” he asked coyly. 

Zevran looked up from the bottle of brandy to Fenris, then wordlessly held out the bottle to him. He swayed slightly and clutched at the edge of the table a moment to steady himself. Belatedly, he gave Fenris an almost wistful smile as he murmured, “Please?” 

The taller elf rose and took the brandy in one hand and ushered the smaller elf towards his bed with the other. “Lie down and let me take care of you.” Fenris slipped the bottle out of reach and instead got Zevran water. “You don’t need any more brandy.” 

“I disagree,” replied Zevran, almost belligerently, though he lay down upon the bed and made no attempt to reach for the bottle. “You have no idea what it is like, to be afraid and sleepless, Leto who is not Leto. I have many enemies, and more all the time. I have to be always alert, and that means I cannot sleep. My Leto could help me sleep, forget myself, but now he will never come to me again.” He glanced away with a look of almost physical pain. “He calls another _amatus_. He has made his choice. Why should he come to me, now he has chosen Dorian?” He sighed, tremulously. “That is why you found me like this,” he whispered. “I hurt, and I grieve, because my heart is breaking and I cannot bear it. And I am too drunk to hide it but not drunk enough to numb the pain or let me sleep. So. If I cannot have the brandy, what will you give me instead, Leto who is not Leto?” He glanced back at Fenris. 

“I told you, I freely give my submission. If you truly wish the oblivion of the bottle, I will grant that instead. You’re wrong, I know this pain far too well. Do you wish the bottom of your drink or to inflict physical pain upon me in equal measure to your grief?” Fenris offered. 

Zevran sat up slowly. “I could hurt you,” he said darkly. “I could make you scream and wish for death. I could cripple you for the sheer joy of making you hurt every bit as much as I hurt now.” He began to crawl across the bed towards Fenris, his eyes glittering in the dark as he moved, predatory and graceful despite his drunken state. “Oh, the sounds I could coax from your lips! You would bleed and beg for death, and the sound would be music to my ears because it would be a voice that is not my own.” 

He reached the edge of the bed and straightened, one hand going to his crotch. “Ohhhh... I feel myself stirring at the thought! I would tie you down, pull your hair -” He fisted his own hair and yanked it hard, pulling his own head up and back as he held Fenris with a wild, fey gaze, a mad smile upon his face. “And I would fuck you so hard -” He punctuated each word with an almost obscene thrust of his hips. “And you would scream so beautifully for me, would you not?” 

“My death nor my blood is on offer, my submission is but I have limits. Do not make me regret offering,” Fenris said as he rose and backed away. 

Zevran began to laugh, softly, his voice slowly becoming louder even as it became higher, a wild, near hysterical sound and then he was sobbing through his laughter. “I could not,” he gasped between paroxysms. “Do you not understand? I could not - I _cannot_! I want to hate you, but then I should only hate myself more. And I want to hurt you but then I would only hurt all the worse. How could I lift a hand against the one I love?” 

He gasped and doubled over, sobbing in earnest once more. “He does not love me. He never loved me. And I did not mean to fall in love but believe me....” He lifted his head and stared at Fenris wretchedly. “If I did this, it would not buy my loyalty to you. It would only hurt me far more than perhaps you can ever dream.” 

He held out a hand that trembled slightly. “Give me the bottle,” he pleaded softly. “Or give me some other way to find sleep. Do not ask of me something which I cannot give you. Is my word not enough? What else would you have of me?” 

Fenris opened the bottle and handed it off to the elf, his expression broken as he turned to go. “For what it's worth, I am sorry. I hope you sleep soon and dreams do not haunt you Zevran Arainai.” The elven fighter left as quietly as he came. 

Zevran stared out into the darkened room, a forlorn look upon his face. “Don’t go,” he whispered, alone in the dark and silence. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repercussions from Leto's presence in Invictus & co.'s Thedas. Events take a serious toll on Anders. Zevran and his stepdaughter come to a new understanding.

The camp at Adamant was quiet as dusk fell. The evening was cooling rapidly; outside the walls of the fortress, the night wind was already whipping up the sand but within the walls, all was still.

Zevran sat alone on a low wall, near where the rift had closed after the others had all staggered out. There was no-one else in the courtyard - all either in their own tents, in the infirmary tent, or else in the mess tent.

The brandy bottle near his feet was almost empty, perhaps a quarter full at best, but Zevran felt too restless to return to the tent to sleep. He stared up into the sky as the colours shifted from rose towards violet, trying to quieten the thoughts racing around his head.

His _carissimi_... was not his _carissimi_. Fenris was lost. And Zevran felt adrift.

Invictus found him by accident as he wandered, looking for the Antivan. He noticed the bottle but said nothing; he’d put away his own fair share of drink after getting Anders calmed and the not-Fenris set up in a tent. 

“Copper for your thoughts.” Vic said as he joined the elf on the wall.

Zevran started slightly; he had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard the other man approach. He turned, one hand going to the knife on his hip but then checked himself as he exhaled. “My heart, you startled me,” he chided softly. “I think I have grown too soft and incautious, hmm? We should hope that I have slain the last Crow, for I think I would have made a tempting target just now.” He let his hand fall from the hilt and reached for the bottle once more.

“You ask for my thoughts, but I do not think them worth so much as a copper,” he sighed. “I think you know what occupies my thoughts.” He gestured at the empty courtyard. “You all returned, but not my _carissimi_. There is a stranger among us with his face, his voice - but he does not know us. And we do not know what manner of man he is. Anders was nearly taken from us again by the shock - and by my actions, I fear. And if I had been the cause of his death then I do not think I could live with myself.” He tilted the bottle up and took a pull, swallowing it before he gestured with it. “There. That is what my thoughts are.”

“I think he’s a good man, and he had his own moment upon seeing Callus. I fear what his world is like if he reacted that poorly to seeing a version of his son. From what I saw of him in the Fade, he seemed to be the one holding them together, and a poor man of character couldn’t do that easily.” Vic kissed him on the cheek before sliding off the wall. 

“Don’t stay out here too long. Desert nights are cold and we miss you love. I’m exhausted but I didn’t want to rest before finding you.” 

“I will not be too long,” Zevran nodded. “My leg does not like the cold and I do not wish to be stiff tomorrow.”

“Be safe my heart, and yell if you need anything,” Vic said before heading off to their tent. He didn’t like leaving the elf alone but he knew when to let Zevran be off to himself.

Zevran waited until he could no longer hear Vic’s footsteps, then slowly set down the bottle upon the ground at his feet. He stared at his hands for a while, then slowly hunched in upon himself as the events of the day all finally seemed to overwhelm him, and he buried his head in his hands and silently wept as he sat there alone.

Leto had been unable to sleep after getting set up with a tent not far from the others. He decided to wander the camp in the hopes he’d be tired enough to get some sleep before they pulled up stakes and headed back to Skyhold. He’d turned a corner, unaware of others until he heard soft crying. He glanced around until his eyes fell on a familiar figure - an elf with long blond hair who sat alone upon a low wall not far from where the rift had closed behind them, his face buried in his hands and weeping quietly, oblivious to all around him as he sat there alone.

Leto drew up short, but not fast or quietly enough to keep the other elf from noticing him. “Hello Zevran,” was all he got out.

The elf surged to his feet and turned, then staggered slightly as his weakened leg - stiffened after spending so long sitting on the cold stone wall - nearly gave out beneath him. He gave a startled hiss of pain as he clutched at his thigh, his other hand upon his knife. He straightened slowly with a grimace.

“Are you so unfamiliar with Crows that you habitually startle them?” he asked between gritted teeth as he turned away, lifting one hand to wipe at the tears wetting his cheeks.

“No, believe me I know better but you seem to be in pain. I’m sorry that I’m not your beloved,” Leto said quietly. 

Zevran gave him a wistful, lopsided smile. “As am I,” he said quietly. He turned and lowered himself stiffly back down onto the wall, then reached for the bottle once more. “Tell me,” he asked quietly. “The Zevran in your world... is he, too, a cripple?” He gazed out across the empty courtyard.

“No, he’s far too hale and hearty for his own damned good. I wish he would...no, that’s terrible, he annoys me some days but I would not wish that on him. Let’s just say we have an on-again, off-again relationship,” Leto said bitterly. 

Zevran glanced up at him, then down at the bottle of brandy which was perhaps a quarter full. Wordlessly he held it out to Leto then gestured to the wall. He waited until Leto had taken a seat, his gaze upon the sunset colours of the sky.

“And do you wish it were more on than off, _mio amico_?” he asked quietly. “Or is this one of those... _complicated_ matters?” He shifted slightly, rubbing his leg absently. “Do not answer if you prefer not. I may have the face and voice of this other Zevran but to you I am, after all, a stranger - and I did not exactly endear myself to you earlier today.” His gaze dropped to the cracked paving stones as a small frown creased his brow. “Or to myself.”

“In his case, more off than on would suit me,” Leto admitted as he watched the shorter elf. “It is incredibly complicated, but I’ve found my heart lies more with my fellow Tevinter mage than with a Crow - no offense meant, ser.” 

“None taken,” replied Zevran with a shrug. “Though technically you could say I am no longer a Crow. They believe me dead, and I have killed all who discovered otherwise. At least, I _think_ I have.” He paused, a dubious look upon his face, then shrugged. He took back the bottle, took a sip, then passed it back to Leto. “So. It is your Dorian who draws your eye, eh?” He tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. “He _is_ a pretty man. You have good taste.”

“Fat lot of good it does me here,” the other elf retorted before sighing. “Apologies, I fear this place is making me...unhappy I guess is the best way to phrase it. My son does not live in my world; seeing him caused me to doubt if I was even on the right side of the veil. You are very lucky Zevran, very, very lucky.” Leto turned away to keep his tears from the other elf. 

“Lucky?” Zevran pondered. “Perhaps I am. I am crippled, it is true, but I have not lost a child. My sympathies. I have buried lovers, a wife, but no children. Anders’ daughter Ellowynne is the closest I think I shall ever come to offspring of my own. I cannot imagine what a terrible thing must the grief of a father be.” He dropped his gaze to his feet. “No parent should ever have to face their child’s death before their own.”

Leto took a hasty swallow of the brandy, ignoring the way it burned as it went down, grateful of an excuse not to have to speak for a moment or two. After the way Zevran had turned upon him so terrifyingly coldly earlier, he didn’t know how to react to this softer, gentler side of the elf. The Zevran of his own Thedas had always held somewhat aloof, even in their bedroom games - as though there were a secret part of himself he kept hidden from the world; and yet sometimes Leto had caught him regarding Leto with a dark, intense look that had made him often wonder just what was going on in the Antivan’s head. Yet even when seemingly at his most vulnerable, in the glow of aftercare once they were finished, Zevran had always been silent.

Perhaps this gentler, more reflective side he saw from this Zevran was what his own Zevran kept hidden. Or perhaps it was only the pain the man must be in, he mused, as he dared a covert glance back at the Antivan who was gazing at the ground, grimacing absently as he rubbed his leg.

“I... would apologise to you, if that is acceptable?” asked Zevran softly. “I was not quite in my right mind and I threatened you. I regret my hasty actions. I caused you alarm and caused hurt to my Anders. I cannot undo what I did. But I can apologise to you for it.”

“Accepted; I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same in your place,” the other elf said gruffly. “As for losing my son, the grief nearly killed me. I do not know how I will take seeing a version of him healthy, and well in this world. Forgive me for how I may respond. I remember his sister, how does she fare here? In my world my sister has tainted her heart against me; I may as well have no children for all she cares for me.” Leto took another drink before passing the bottle back.

“Callus was my apprentice for some time. He is not my apprentice any longer, but if I ask him to give you space then he will heed me, I think,” said Zevran slowly. “As for his sister, she is Anders’ apprentice and loves her father very much.” He gestured to his weak leg. “The wound I took to this leg was inflicted as I tried to defend them both from a demon that attacked us. It wanted Fenris - your counterpart. Pin tried to defend him and Anders’ daughter but the demon lashed out at her. I placed myself in harm’s way to protect them both.” He took a sip of brandy. “Pin is a good girl. Her father is very proud of her. As are we all.”

“Lucky son of a bitch he is,” Leto said before taking another sip. “It sounds like a dream I wouldn’t want to wake from. I hope he is doing well as he can in my world. I wouldn’t wish that demon we call Inquisitor upon anyone, I should have killed him in Kirkwall.” He glanced at Zevran and gave him a sad smile. “Sorry to be a bother, this is a bit much.”

Zevran held out the brandy. “I think that perhaps you are coping far better than I would in your shoes,” he replied with a shrug. “It would be rather hard for me to step into the boots of an able-bodied Crow; I do not think I would be able to maintain the deception that I were him for very long, unless I were to feign injury.” He gazed up at the evening sky, where the first stars were beginning to shine. “I wonder how my _carissimi_ is faring in your world? I hope that my counterpart there is not treating him unkindly.” He sighed, then swallowed hard. “Anders will take his loss very hard. He begged Fenris to come home safely. Perhaps if he had not stayed behind to remain with me then -”

He broke off and shook his head as he stared down at his boots again. “No. If wishes were horses then all Thedas would ride, no? I could not go, and so he could not bear to see me standing there, left behind, not knowing. And so we both waited.” He closed his eyes. “Damn me for my weakness,” he added softly.

“It is not his fault or yours. I think both of us were pretty stunned after hitting the ground, you saw how I could just stare at you all and barely speak until Cal - Callus showed up. If he was in the same state, it’s no surprise we didn’t realize we weren’t going to the right world.” Leto took a long pull of brandy and sat back. “I hope he finds comfort with the Dorian of my world, as that is the person most likely to aid him in getting home. If nothing else, he’s a good lay and fun in bed.” 

Zevran’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “As is my _carissimi_ ,” he murmured. “And I will miss that part of him too. That was one part of our reunion I was particularly looking forward to.” The smile dropped as he held out a hand for the bottle. “My _carissimi_ is affectionate with our Dorian and has often... heh... _played_ with him. But our Dorian is the husband of our Inquisitor, and Fenris has three husbands here. He may feel uncomfortable being intimate with your Dorian. He does not play much with those who have pledged themselves to others, you see - or without talking to us first. And whilst these are unusual circumstances and I, for one, would have no issue with him seeking comfort from your Dorian, he may not feel comfortable with not having that permission _expressly_. And I cannot speak for Anders or Invictus.”

He sighed softly. “You must miss your Dorian very much,” he went on. “I can hear the love in your voice. For that, too, I am sorry. Is there anything I can do to make your presence here in our world a little more comfortable? It would be the least I could do after such a poor welcome.” He went to take a mouthful of brandy before staring in dismay at the empty bottle. He set it down with a philosophical shrug.

“I doubt this Dorian would welcome my advances on a cold night, nor would any of you since you are acutely aware I am not the one who belongs here. I think...I’m going to have more drink, cry myself to sleep and hope I can face tomorrow with a clear head. I say again, your Fenris is a lucky man; I just hope he realizes it; especially after the harsh wake-up he’ll have dealing with my life.” Leto sniffed and wiped his face, angry at himself for crying in front of this stranger or losing his composure so fully. 

Zevran leaned back diffidently, carefully averting his eyes as he chose his next words. “I believe I have another bottle of brandy in my bag. I... would not be averse to sharing it with you,” he said quietly. “As for what you say regarding advances... I have to wonder if that means you _would_ make an advance to one of us if you thought we were... how shall I say this... _amenable_?” He kept his eyes on the courtyard rather than the man at his side. “Of course, if you prefer not to discuss such a matter then I will keep my silence and nothing more may be said, hmm?”

Leto cocked his head to the side and pondered the elf before him. “Anders wouldn’t touch me I think, and Invictus looked a bit wrecked at realizing I’m not his beloved. Are you offering to keep me company, poor as it would be? I doubt your husband cries as I have tonight or shows his heart so openly.”

Zevran chuckled softly. “Oh, perhaps you would be surprised,” he said softly. “But if you wish my company then it is yours. Only first you must let me speak to my husbands; we do not want them worrying about where I may be, hmm?”

Leto rose to his feet and held a hand out; Zevran accepted and allowed the tall elf to pull him to his feet. Then they set off across the courtyard towards the tents. Zevran gestured to Leto to go on ahead to his own tent, and then ducked into the one he shared with Anders and Vic.

“There you are, love; we were beginning to worry!” said Anders as he sat up and looked up at Zevran.

“ _Mi cuore_ , please forgive me,” said Zevran contritely. “I did not mean to distress you. I found myself in conversation with our husband’s counterpart and perhaps lost track of the passing of time.”

“How is he?” asked Vic as Zevran crossed over to his pack and lowered himself stiffly to sit beside it as he hunted for his last bottle of Antivan brandy - the second of the two bottles that Rowan Amell had liberated for him from the supplies wagon before they reached Adamant.

“He is a very lonely man,” replied Zevran. “As is to be expected. I am attempting to make him feel a little less lonely.” He pulled out the bottle of brandy then looked around at Vic. “And I would ask your blessing to make that comfort more... physical?” 

Invictus just stared at him. “You were ready to stab him earlier, now you want to fuck?” he asked in surprise.

An uneasy, guilty look crossed Zevran’s face and he lowered his eyes. “I was not in my right mind. Which is still not an acceptable reason, but I do regret it. I terrified him and I caused harm to Anders. I would seek to make amends for that, but only if I have the blessing of both of you. I will not transgress against you.”

“Zevran... it wasn’t your fault I had one of my turns,” said Anders gently. “But it’s good that you are speaking to us first.” He glanced to Vic.

Invictus blushed and looked away. “You know I have no grounds to say no, be well and be safe.” 

Zevran glanced back to Anders, who looked uneasy for a moment. “I will not stand in your way either, Zevran,” he said softly. “You also have my blessing.”

Zevran crossed over to him and kissed him gently before going to Vic and kissing him in turn. “Thank you, both of you,” he said sombrely. Then he picked up the bottle of brandy and headed for Leto’s tent.

He cleared his throat softly just outside the tent flap. “I come bearing good Antivan brandy,” he said quietly.

“Come in, make yourself comfortable,” Leto said from where he’d lain out on a bedroll to stare at the nexus of poles holding up his tent. He’d pulled his tunic off despite the chilly desert evening; he turned to stare at Zevran curiously. 

Zevran lowered the tent flap behind himself and smiled. “I also bring the blessings of Anders and Invictus for whatever else may happen in this tent,” he added as he entered and set the bottle of brandy between them before lowering himself to the floor. He pulled out a small boot knife and set to work to open the bottle before offering it courteously to Leto.

“What do you want to happen? I admit my games with my own Zevran are far rougher than what you may wish to partake in,” Leto admitted as he took a long pull and passed it back. “He...he lets me do as I wish, and at times, I allow him the same.”

“It is fairly hard to break me, despite appearances to the contrary,” replied Zevran with a casual wave at the leg stretched out in front of himself. “And indeed, my _carissimi_ has taken me quite roughly even with my leg broken.” He smiled in fond remembrance. “That was... a very good evening, though Anders was quite cross about it,” he shrugged. “I shall never forget his shout about how what we had done was not merely ‘a little light fellatio’, as he put it.” He chuckled.

“If only I had such fond memories of home,” Leto said bitterly before drinking again. “I would not cause you harm, especially with Invictus, Anders and others eager to protect you. I ...I don’t know if I have it in me to be my usual self anyway. What is it you wish Zevran?” 

Zevran took the bottle and drank before passing it back. “I wish to share a drink with you and I would like to make this night less lonely for you,” he said. “I have been a lonely man myself, far from home and without friends. I know you are a different man to my _carissimi_ , but I think I like you and I hope that we may at least be able to be friends. And friends... comfort each other, in times of need. I seek also to make amends for my earlier behaviour. So! I think I should be asking _you_ this question, hmm? What does Leto wish of Zevran Hawke, and how may Zevran help Leto be less lonely this night?” He tilted his head to one side as he lifted one hand to toy with the laces of his shirt collar, tugging it open slightly to bare a little more of his tawny skin.

Leto found himself at a loss. This man was nothing like his Zevran, even when they had shared a bed or drink.He stared at the smaller elf in confusion before admitting how at a loss he was. “I… don’t know. Zevran in my world shows me no affection in public, nor barely when we do lie together, he’s never...he...I don’t know what to do with you,” he finally admitted.

Zevran chuckled gently. “Perhaps I am overdressed, hmm?” He began to slowly tug the laces open, steadily drawing open the shirt until the whole length of his torso was revealed, not once taking his gaze off Leto. His golden eyes smouldered and Leto found he couldn’t look away as Zevran slipped the black tunic from his shoulders to let it fall to the ground. Coyly he lowered his head a little, glancing up at Leto from beneath his eyelashes as he slipped the thin linen shirt from one shoulder and had the satisfaction of hearing Leto’s breathing speed up a little.

He slipped the shirt off his other shoulder then leaned back to rest his weight upon his hands as the shirt slipped down, the fabric pooling about his wrists as he shook his hair back over his shoulder. Then he glanced at Leto again.

“Would you like to touch me?” he asked softly. 

“Ye - yes, please,” Leto said as he stared at Zevran, perplexed and unsure what was the right move.

“I would like you to touch me, Leto,” murmured Zevran. “Where would you like to touch me? Why don’t you come closer. I want to feel you lay your hands upon my skin. I enjoy being stroked....” He arched an eyebrow and gave Leto an encouraging smile.

Leto stared at him in confusion. “I’m sorry...no one has been this...this, kind with me since my Endrin was alive. I fear I don’t know what to do with you,” he admitted before blinking back tears.

Zevran stilled, his eyes widening slightly, and then he sat up, all affect gone. “You... you are Endrin’s Leto?” he breathed. “Maker. I am so sorry. I did not know.” He rolled over onto his knees and reached out hesitantly towards Leto but halted. “May I hold you, or would you prefer I do not touch you?” he said quietly, deferentially.

“You may, I ...could use some comfort. I am sorry to be like this, I am no longer used to a gentle touch or a lover trying to lure me to their thighs. Afraid I’ve become accustomed to much rougher times.” Leto scrubbed at his face before setting back so Zevran could come to him.

Zevran swiftly tugged off his boots and set them aside before moving to join Leto. Gently he slipped his arms around the larger elf and held him close, one hand drifting up to card light fingers through Leto’s hair. “I am sorry. Sorry that you have lost your Endrin, and sorry that you have not known a lover’s gentle touch since then. And I am very sorry if I have added to your distress,” he added.

That was the final straw for the elven warrior to lose his resolve and break down. He sobbed as if he was grieving anew for home, his beloved Endrin, everything he had lost since then. It was like all of the fear and worry of finding himself in this other world finally broke free. 

Zevran drew him closer and held him as he sobbed; very gently, he pressed a featherlight kiss to the soft white hair.Then another, and another, until he moved slowly down to kiss Leto’s temple. He paused before each kiss, allowing Leto the freedom to move away at any point. Slowly the kisses moved down to Leto’s cheek, and Zevran kissed away the next tear that slipped free.

“Say the word and I will stop,” whispered Zevran. “We go only so far and no further as you are comfortable with.” He lifted his golden gaze to stare into Leto’s eyes.

“You’d still want me, broken as I am?” Leto asked quietly as he returned the elf’s stare. 

Zevran chuckled softly. “My friend, I am hardly whole myself. Broken? Perhaps. But yes, I still want this - want _you_ , broken or no. But only with your consent.”

“I feel so stupid, like this is my first time of my own free will. Maker I’m messed up, and I want you so badly but I want this to be fun for you too. Would you have me, pitiful as I am?” Leto asked.

Zevran leaned in towards Leto’s lips then paused, his breath warm against the other elf’s face. “I would very much like to kiss you, Leto. May I?”

“Yes, you may Zevran,” the other elf agreed before he closed his eyes and leaned in to close the distance.

Zevran smiled then gently pressed his lips to Leto’s. He swiped his tongue lightly across Leto’s lips as his own parted but waited, content to let Leto dictate how far this kiss went and to take charge if he wished.

The taller elf laid back and tugged Zevran down with him, content to kiss for a while. He cradled the other elf’s head gently while letting him explore and lead him. He pulled back for air, and to stare into the golden eyes he was so unused to seeing in a kind way. “I’m sorry if I get emotional on you, I’ve never had a gentle moment with my Zevran. You can lead, I’m content to let you do as you wish.”

Zevran tenderly kissed him again before lifting himself up slightly to gaze down at Leto. “May I touch you?” he whispered. 

“If you don’t do something to me soon, I might just come the moment you do touch me. You have me consent, just please ...make me feel good tonight.” Leto stared at him before tilting his head aside. “Do as you wish.”

Zevran kissed him again, his eyes softening. “Then I would like to taste your cock,” he said gently. “And if you wish to fuck my mouth as I do so, then I would like that also - I think perhaps you, also, would like my consent for anything you might find yourself doing, hmm? Consider it granted.” He smiled, then began to undress Leto, kissing his way slowly down the other elf’s body as he went but careful to avoid the lyrium.

He paused over the thickest stripe of lyrium that traced down Leto’s torso to his navel and then on down beneath the waistband of Leto’s pants. He inhaled deeply; his face was hidden by his hair, and Leto was unaware of the look of deep longing that briefly crossed the Antivan’s face as he licked his lips. Then he gently pressed a kiss either side of the stripe of lyrium and continued downwards.

“Please...taste me already!” Leto begged as he let his hand slide through the Antivan’s hair, and over his mouth before swiping a thumb over the other elf’s lips. “Please,” he begged again. 

Zevran took Leto’s thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before swallowing it down; he gently took each of Leto’s fingers into his mouth in turn with a soft moan before he drew away and tugged down Leto’s pants, freeing his erection. Zevran shifted himself to settle between Leto’s thighs, and then lowered his mouth to the head of Leto’s cock. His tongue darted out to swirl about the head before he slowly swallowed him down.

He felt his mouth filled, lips stretched about its girth as he lowered himself down. He felt the head of Leto’s cock brush the back of his throat and shifted himself slightly until Leto could feel his member sliding into the Antivan’s throat. Zevran swallowed, and Leto felt a ripple of pressure along the length of his cock as Zevran moaned very softly.

“Fuck...fuuuuuuuck,” was all the Tevinter elf could get out as he felt Zevran sucking him better than he’d expected. “Zev…” he gasped as he felt the elf take him down again. “Please...please,” he moaned before rolling his hips and slowly fucking the other elf’s mouth.

Zevran moaned soft encouragement as he held himself still, working Leto’s cock with his tongue as the thick member thrust slowly into his throat. After a few minutes of this, he lifted his head and smiled at Leto. “Would you like me to ride you?” he offered breathlessly. “Or would you like to come in my mouth?”

Leto stared at him as he tried to breathe. “Do what you want, please Zevran!” the elf begged as he wished for both things. “I can’t choose, both sound good, please...please do something.”

Zevran rose up to his knees and swiftly shucked his own pants. He pulled out a vial of oil then moved forward to straddle Leto’s hips, poised just above his cock. Pulling the cork from the vial with his teeth, he slicked his fingers then leaned forward to work two fingers into himself, opening himself up. Swiftly he thrust in a third finger with a soft grunt, then he lifted himself up. Anointing Leto’s cock with oil, he slicked him thoroughly before corking the vial and throwing it aside onto his tunic. Then lining Leto’s cock up with his entrance, he sank down slowly, impaling himself steadily until Leto’s member was fully sheathed inside him. 

He paused, breathing slowly and deeply as he adjusted to being filled so thoroughly and completely, stretched almost painfully by the wide girth of Leto’s cock. Then he rose up on his knees before sinking down again with a low groan as he let his head drop back and he closed his eyes, grinding himself down onto Leto’s cock.

“Leto...” he breathed. “Oh, Leto.”

“Zev---Ze---Zevran,” Leto called out as he was ridden. “Can… can you please go faster? Or something so I don’t scream?” Leto gasped.

Zevran nodded and bit his lip as he felt his leg give a warning twinge. He ignored it however and leaned forward to kiss Leto again even as his movements sped up. He could feel Leto snap his hips up to meet his next downthrust and he groaned into the kiss, lifting one hand to tweak Leto’s nipple.

The taller elf let his eyes close as he felt himself losing his control, it was easier in a way if he closed them but he knew that he’d be staring into golden eyes if Zevran tweaked his chest like that again. “Close...already...Zev...please let me come, soon,” he moaned before wrapping an arm around the Antivan and snapping his hips harder and faster.

Zevran gave a soft cry as the thrusts came harder with almost bruising force; his breathing became ragged pants as sweat slowly rolled down his spine. “Y-yes... Leto....” he panted. “As - as hard as you wish...” He was unable to get further words out for the punishing pace Leto was now setting, and he was crying out with each thrust, lost in the sensation that he was no longer in control and at the mercy of Leto. He surrendered, closing his eyes as Leto claimed his body.

Before Zevran could call his name again, Leto had turned them over, pounding into the slighter elf hard and fast. He tried not to get rough but couldn’t hold back as he felt the blond elf clamp down on him with each thrust. “Gonna… come… sorry,” he panted.

“Leto... please....” Zevran managed to gasp out, opening his eyes and staring up at him, pinned beneath the larger elf. He was desperately close himself, in spite of the burn as Leto’s hips snapped hard, the pace becoming almost brutal.

He finally threw his head back and screamed as he came, hard. Leto was so into what he was doing that he didn’t even flinch as Zevran screamed in his ear, ignoring the twinge in his back as he finally came, not screaming but panting harshly as he barely kept from collapsing on top of the slighter elf. 

Zevran moaned as he felt the sudden hot wetness, Leto’s spend filling him, his insides sore and in pain; he felt certain he must be bruised inside. “Leto,” he moaned, softer. He was unable to move; his leg ached, and he felt almost raw inside and exhausted. But he managed to open his eyes to gaze up at Leto and give a small, reassuring smile.

“I... am sorry I could not last... longer,” he panted. 

“It’s fine, I didn’t last too long myself,” Leto said before he rolled over and pulled Zevran to him. “Sleep now.”

Zevran allowed himself to be pulled into Leto’s arms; utterly ennervated, he was unable to do much more than grimace at the feeling of his own spend drying upon his chest, smeared between himself and Leto’s body, and the sensation of Leto’s own spend steadily trickling from him, the back of his thighs wet and cold as his leg ached. Almost as bad as the ache inside, bruised and sore; fleetingly he wondered if he had torn inside. But he managed to school his face and let none of that show as he lifted his head to stare into Leto’s sleepy eyes.

“Was... was that good for you, _mio amico_?” he breathed. Softer, he added, “Was... _I_ good for you... Leto?”

Leto drowsily pressed a kiss to Zevran’s forehead. “Very good,” he slurred. “Hush. Sleep....”

Zevran closed his eyes, but as Leto slept deeply beside him, the Antivan felt sleep taking a long time to claim him. Aching, in pain and discomfort, he finally passed into an exhausted sleep.

**

Leto was still asleep when Zevran drifted awake the following morning. It was pain that woke the Antivan. He was no stranger to pain being his first sensation on awakening, but the throbbing ache in his leg felt worse than usual, and there was a burning pain inside. He groaned softly to himself; there was no way he would be capable of riding a horse in this condition.

He could feel Leto’s arm, flung about his waist; as Zevran rolled to his back with another stifled groan, the other elf’s arm tightened, pinning Zevran’s left arm by his side and trapping him in the bedroll. He would be going nowhere at present - not until Leto should awaken. Zevran lay still on his back and opened his eyes.

It was barely dawn, from the rosy golden glow upon the canvas of the bell tent, the light softly, dimly illuminating the interior of the tent. He could hear the sounds of the camp slowly stirring to life; the quiet shouts of people starting to go about all the tasks and chores so necessary to the maintenance of an army encampment. There were horses to be fed, guards to be relieved from sentry duty, cook fires to be lit to feed the troops. This was a much smaller army than the one that had besieged Adamant the first time around, but the life of an army in the field did not differ.

He wondered if Anders and Invictus were stirring yet. He thought it unlikely; Anders would be still recovering from his turn, and Vic had always been a habitual late riser when given the chance. Pin would be with her wife Marian, Garrett would be with the other battlemages - and Callus would be doubtless setting about his duties over in the Chargers’ part of the camp. Ellowynne would be asleep still in the partitioned-off part of their large tent, unless she had already risen to take care of her dracolisk, Lady.

Zevran gently nudged at Leto’s arm; with a grunt, the other elf shifted slightly without waking - just enough that Zevran was able to gently ease himself out from beneath Leto’s arm. Reaching for his pants, he silently dressed, slightly hampered by the stiffness in his leg and back; then he managed to get to his feet with a little difficulty, biting back a groan as his leg twinged painfully.

He hunted through what meagre belongings the other elf possessed, but found no healing potions. Nor, Zevran, noted, did he appear to have a weapon; presumably it must have been left behind in the Fade. Zevran resolved to have a word with the quartermaster at his earliest opportunity to find out if there might be any spare greatswords in the supply wagons.

Moving silently, Zevran cast a last glance back and noted with relief that Leto was still fast asleep; limping heavily, he made his way back to the tent he shared with Vic and Anders - and, of course, now also Ellowynne. He found them all still fast asleep; Anders was sprawled upon his cot, Vic snuggled up behind him, both dead to the world. Zevran could hear slow, steady breathing from beyond the partition; evidently Ellowynne were also still fast asleep. He made his way to his pack as silently as possible and retrieved a couple of healing potions; downing one swiftly, he tucked the other inside his tunic before leaving as quietly as he had entered.

He made his way slowly to the mess tent and found it quiet, only the busy mess cooks and a few of the night sentries present as yet. He collected two bowls of oatmeal and a pot of hot, fresh coffee with two mugs then made his way back to Leto’s tent. He found the other elf still fast asleep, much as he had left him; stiffly, he made his way to the camp table and set down the tray then, with a wince, lowered himself to sit in a camp chair and wait for Leto to awaken. He took a sip from his mug of coffee, then pulled out the second healing potion and downed it, setting the empty bottle aside as he reached for his coffee again.

He had finished his first mug of coffee and the healing potions had finally taken the edge off his discomfort when Leto finally stirred. The white-haired elf rolled onto his side then slowly opened his eyes, looking about himself in dazed confusion, still sleep-befuddled.

“Good morning,” said Zevran quietly as he poured himself a second mug of coffee. “There is fresh coffee which is still hot, as is breakfast.”

“Morning,” Leto greeted him softly before sitting up and groaning. “Are you well? I know I...got a bit carried away last night.” 

Zevran’s eyes went to the empty bottle beside the pot of coffee, but he glanced back to Leto with a half smile. “No worse than I usually am in the mornings,” he shrugged, then took another sip of coffee. “Did you sleep well? The coffee is very good. Nevarran, I think.”

Leto stared at the elf, noting how he sat stiffly and moved carefully. “I can heal you if you need it, I can tell you’re in pain.” 

The smile disappeared from Zevran’s lips and a small frown furrowed his brow. “How? you are no mage -” He broke off and blinked. “Unless there is more to you than meets the eye... more than my own Fenris?” He shifted in his seat and sat forward then halted at a sudden stab of pain in his leg and hip; he paused, then set the half-full mug of coffee to one side. “So. Tell me then, what you see when you look at me, Leto, and then tell me how this is possible?”

The other elf glanced away before speaking of how he discovered his powers after Mythal changed him. “I...have a problem with my feelings; either I hide them until I can hold them no longer, or else I am an open book. One afternoon I was so furious that lightning kept sparking from me. I...thought maybe I’d been cursed by a Venatori or it was some spell that had taken time to manifest. Dorian checked me over and found that I had magic. Apparently high emotions helped it come out.” Leto glanced at Zevran, worried the other elf would fear him or think him a freak. 

Zevran frowned then sat back slowly, regarding Leto thoughtfully. “I have to wonder why my _carissimi_ has never shown such a... talent,” he mused quietly. “He is given to explosions of emotion at times, and yet never has he loosed control over any magical gifts such as you describe. He sleeps with three mages - and, until you all went into the Fade, a fourth. Two of those mages were powerful healers; Dorian is a brilliant mage with, according to Anders, an unsurpassed talent for theoretical magic who succeeded in perfecting the art of travelling not only through the Fade but through time itself - and yet, none of them have ever detected such a talent in my _carissimi_.”

“I was fucking Dorian for a while before I had that moment where my anger let my powers surface. It...was buried deep and if not for the incandescent rage our Inquisitor sent me into, I might not have discovered it. Mythal did something to me at their temple. Aside from growing a damned foot, claws and fangs, I found myself more of a freak than before,” Leto said bitterly before reaching for the food that had been brought.

“A freak, you say?” murmured Zevran, a slight bite of steel edging into his voice though his expression was one of mild curiosity. “Do you think magic makes one a freak, then?”

“No, I’ve always thought that about myself. It's more about my poor sense of self worth - I mean, I am a mage, and I don’t think that. Forgive my poor word choice but this lyrium made me more of a freak before I knew I too carried magic in my veins. I didn’t deal with it well - after all, your Fenris was a slave too? He had been hurt by magic and the Imperium as well? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even talk about this, it will send me to a bad place on top of all that has happened,” Leto said as he rested his head against his knees.

A little of the tension left Zevran. “I have had a taste of Tevinter slavery for myself,” he said softly. “And I have seen the effect it has had on Fenris and others. It is not so different in many ways to being raised as a Crow... or as a mage imprisoned in a tower. Slavery takes many forms but I do not think it is something one ever... recovers from. Like grief, it is something you learn to exist with - or you become destroyed by it.” His voice was soft and sad as he gazed away at nothing.

“Losing Endrin nearly killed me, losing… my son sent me into such a deep spiral that I nearly drank myself to death, refused help until I went to Dorian in such a bad way that he forced me to stop for a while, a man who loves drink as much as I do; stopped drinking along with me to get me out of that dark place. I’ve had so much loss that finding I had the same power in my blood that had enslaved me for a good part of my life was nearly the last thing I could bear.” The elf sniffed as he unfolded himself to finish eating, though he didn’t want to do more than sleep and pretend. 

Leto finally looked to the Antivan and gave him a tremulous smile. “Forgive me, this isn’t what you probably wanted to hear first thing in the morning. Perhaps you can tell me more of Dorian’s theoretical knowledge of the Fade, it may be my only hope to get home after all.”

Zevran had been staring into space, lost in his own thoughts; as Leto spoke, he came back to himself slowly and glanced back at the other elf, his golden eyes darkened by remembered pain and holding a haunted look. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “I was... caught up in old memories. What were you saying?” He sat up straighter and winced slightly as he reached for his forgotten mug of coffee.

“It’s alright, I was just rambling,” Leto said before he leaned over and nudged the bowl at Zevran. “Will you allow me to heal you?” he asked again.

Zevran blinked at his forgotten breakfast. “I... find I am without appetite,” he said, after a moment, then looked up at Leto. “But I have taken healing potions. Do not trouble yourself. I am used to pain.”

“Just because we get used to pain does not mean we should live with it without a word. Please, you helped me and part of your discomfort is my doing, allow me please?” Leto asked again.

Zevran set aside his mug of coffee once more then spread his arms wide in a gesture of surrender. “Very well, Leto; you are as stubborn as my _carissimi_. I yield; do with me as you will.” He gave him a wry smile.

“I simply wish to do what’s right,” Leto said before laying hands on the smaller elf’s leg and concentrating. He frowned as he worked, finding many old injuries and scarred tissue. He did his best to ease Zevran’s pains, both old and what he had helped along. “There, I have done what I can but you should let your Anders work on you more, there are a lot of old injuries and scars I could sense but I don’t have the skill to heal them.” 

“He is familiar with my scars,” Zevran shrugged as he sat up straighter and flexed his leg experimentally. “But my thanks for doing what you could.” He reached for the cold half-drunk mug of coffee. “As long as I can sit my horse, then I am content. I would have been miserable indeed if I had had to travel in a wagon like one more piece of baggage.”

“I’m sorry,” Leto apologized before reaching for the elf’s bowl and warming it. “Please eat, I will...I would not wish you to be hungry before we break camp again.” He looked down and held the bowl out for Zevran to take.

Zevran stared at it for a moment, then took it. Stirring the spoon through the oatmeal, he studied it for a moment, then began to eat, not lifting his head as he ate in silence, mechanically. When he had finished, he set the bowl back upon the tray then reached for the coffee pot to top up his mug. He seemed unable to look Leto in the eye, as he turned his attention to the mug of coffee. Though it was lukewarm, he drank it slowly.

“So,” he said quietly. “We will break camp today and set out for Skyhold, I believe. I do not wish to leave Adamant when this was the last place my _carissimi_ entered the Fade; after all, the Veil must be thin here if it could be torn open in a rift not once, but twice, hmm? But I do not think the wishes of Zevran Arainai Hawke will be much taken into account. I am only one man, after all. And I do not think my husbands will allow me to remain alone.” He glanced up, staring towards the door of the tent rather than at the other elf. “There are doubtless spare horses enough that you may have your pick. I think we will probably find ourselves staying at Skyhold until the mages there can find a way to send you back. What do you think you will do when we reach Skyhold?”

“I hadn’t thought about it honestly. I’m guessing I can’t come with you if you don’t live at Skyhold? There are very few people here that will tolerate the imposter to the one you love I’m guessing. I can’t find comfort in Dorian, nor would I consider the other Anders. You gave me a wonderful night, but I can’t take you from your husbands while I am stuck here. It doesn’t matter, I’m used to being lonely since losing Endrin. My Dorian is the closest I have come to filling the empty spot in my soul since Kirkwall.” Leto looked away then and around the tent. “I don’t even have my staff, my rucksack is all I have here so its not like I’ll take up a lot of space.” 

Zevran stared down at his hands. “We have rooms at Skyhold. I think it likely that Dorian and Anders will wish to make use of the facilities of the College and work together, which means staying in Skyhold. I believe the rookery still stands vacant; perhaps I will move back in there. If I do, then I would not be... averse... to you visiting me there. Assuming you would wish that, of course.” 

He finally looked up and his gaze met that of Leto. “I, too, have been a lonely man,” he murmured.

Leto nodded and rose to get his rucksack. “I would not, only with the allowance of your husbands and that we do not get so rough that I hurt you again. My lack of control will not cause you pain Zevran.” 

Zevran rose from his seat then halted before Leto and stared up into his eyes. “I have one last request before we leave this tent, Leto,” he said.

“Ask it, and if I can I shall grant it.” the taller elf answered.

Zevran tilted his head slightly. “Kiss me one last time, until I cannot breathe,” he whispered.

Leto leaned down and kissed him, even picking up the elf until he was supporting him. He held on until he needed air. “Was that ok?”

Zevran’s eyes were closed as Leto pulled away; the smaller elf still and unmoving in his arms, and Leto realised that Zevran had swooned as they kissed. “Zevran? Zev!”

Zevran’s eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at Leto dazedly. “For-forgive me, _carissimi_ ,” he slurred, disoriented. “Where - what happened?”

“I’m not Fenris, remember?” Leto said sadly as held the other elf up. “Shall I take you back to your husbands?”

Remembrance dawned in Zevran’s eyes and he groaned. “Yes,” he sighed. “I am not quite myself I think, and they will worry.” 

As Leto set him carefully back on his feet, Zevran glanced back up at him. “Will you... ride with us?” he asked quietly. “You need not fear encountering Callus or Vulpine; Pin will be with her wife, and Callus will have his duties with the Chargers.”

“If the others allow it, that will be fine,” the taller elf said before gently releasing Zevran. “I’m so sorry, if I could send myself home and get your beloved back, I would.” Leto grabbed his pack and waited for the Antivan to lead them back.

Zevran sighed and nodded, then led the way out of the tent and back to the one he shared with Anders and Invictus.

Anders was helping his daughter to rearrange her pack, sorting through the saddlebags that her dracolisk would carry. Her father’s staff was already on her back; as Leto glanced at her, he realised with a dull shock that he recognised it. The silverite dragon’s head was dulled by salt stains, the six-bladed foot rusty in places and the paint stripped from the sunbleached wooden haft - but he would have known Freedom’s Call anywhere.

Oblivious to his stare, Ellowynne was folding a blanket as her father sat on the low camp cot, his head lowered over a saddlebag he was repacking; across the tent, Invictus was sharpening the blunted and notched blade on his own staff which was showing signs of damage from the constant melees of the past 48 hours. He glanced up as they entered, then set aside the staff and stood as he took in Zevran’s appearance - the elf’s hair still tousled from sleep and a distant, slightly lost air about him as though the Antivan were still half asleep perhaps. He was still slightly limping as he entered, the half-full bottle of brandy in one hand.

“Good morning Invictus, Anders. I’ve brought Zevran back a little rumpled but unharmed,” said Leto as he entered just behind the Antivan. Anders glanced up, startled, then gave them a grin before he set aside the pack and rose to his feet and hastened to greet Zevran. He embraced him, then paused before he stepped back, his hands on Zevran’s shoulders to stare at the elf.

“Love?” he said quietly. “I can feel your body’s healing - accelerated at that. What happened? Who - who healed you?”

Zevran glanced up at that and gave him a faint smile. “ _Mi cuore_ , did you know my _carissimi_ is a mage? It seems Leto is one, and so Fenris must be one too. How strange that we never knew....”

“Zevran?” said Anders, quieter. “Zevran, what’s wrong? How were you hurt?”

“Ah, my love, you know how my pain is in the mornings,” shrugged Zevran. “My leg troubled me a little more than usual. It is nothing to worry about.”

“I do worry when it seems as if you’re only half with us, love,” said Anders, worried.

“I shared some of my past pains with him, I fear I set us both on a path towards thinking too hard on old hurts. Forgive me,” Leto said quietly as he glanced away from them.

Zevran ran a hand through his hair with an air of distraction. “I am sorry, _mi cuore_ ,” he said with a half shrug. “I am a little out of sorts, no? Yesterday was... it left me with much to think on and has stirred up... feelings that I was unprepared for.” 

He looked up at Anders. “I do not wish to leave here. Fenris may return to this spot - here, here was where they entered the Fade, I am certain that here is where he will return to! Please - you must help me persuade Meneris to stay - two more days!”

“Zevran -” began Anders, as Vic took a step towards them.

“One! Just give me one more day here!” pleaded Zevran. “You could all go on ahead, just leave me with a little water, a little food - just one day, _mi cuore_!” He glanced pleadingly at Vic. “Invictus... you will help Meneris see sense, yes? Leave me behind - only one day, I beg you! Just in case - just in case he returns!” He stared at Invictus with a look of desperation.

Vic frowned at his husband. “Do you think Fenris will find a way back so quickly? I want him home but I also want you safe.” The former Champion started to pace as he considered Zevran’s request. “I’ll ask, after all they may not plan to move out today after such a battle or with the injuries some of us suffered. If he refuses I’ll shake some sense into him.” He glanced at Leto and glared at him. “You be careful with Zevran, he wasn’t limping like that when he went to comfort you. If you send him back worse off I’ll kill you.”

“I will be as gentle as a new lamb serah,” Leto replied before turning away in shame.

“Zevran, I think perhaps you need to sit down,” said Anders as he tugged the Antivan towards the nearest cot. “Have you eaten? You’d had nothing since yesterday morning!”

“A bowl of oatmeal, coffee... I will be fine,” shrugged Zevran, allowing himself to be pushed down to sit upon the cot however. He stared down at Anders as the healer knelt by his feet and pushed back his sleeves before laying his hands upon the Antivan’s leg and concentrating. After a moment, Anders’ frown deepened; he opened his eyes and looked up at Zevran. his lips parted, but Zevran laid a finger against them before Anders could speak.

“Hush, my heart,” he murmured. “I know. But I have felt worse. I will be able to sit my horse, and that is all that matters. But I cannot leave here yet. Not if there is the slightest chance Fenris might return here. I will willingly remain behind alone if there is that chance. Imagine how he would feel if he were to reappear from the Fade here, only to find Adamant deserted, no-one here to wait for him? This is a lonely place, and a man without friends would not survive long in this desert - even such a man as Fenris.”

“I would remain behind if you allow it. Unless we stay for a couple more days,” Leto offered. 

“Let me talk to Meneris first before we make plans to leave anyone behind. You don’t know this world Leto, I would not be alright with leaving you both here alone,” Vic said

“I’m not a child, I’m pretty sure Skyhold is in the same place it is for me at home. I can get there just fine,” Leto snapped before catching himself. “I apologize. I think being away from my world is making my temper short.”

“I’ll talk to Meneris,” said Anders firmly. “I will ask for three more days and plead our case. If he won’t listen to reason then I’ll throw myself on Dorian’s mercy; unlike Meneris, Dorian has almost as much reason to want to remain here as we do, I should think. But if they refuse, then I am sorry, Zevran - you will be coming with us, if I have to put you out myself. I don’t think you really want to fight me on this, do you? Not after last night.”

Zevran’s head jerked up and he stared at Anders in anguish before he bowed his head. “I will not fight you, _mi cuore_ ,” he murmured. “If Meneris and Dorian both refuse then - then I will go where you go. I swear it.” His shoulders slumped, and he appeared exhausted and ill - as though all his energy had been spent at once, leaving him empty and wrung out.

“Come on, love,” said Anders gently. “Lie down and rest. You’ve pushed yourself too far again and you know you’re going to pay for it if you don’t let your body have a chance to rest before you drop. You don’t want to have to be carried away from here in a wagon, do you?”

“No,” replied Zevran dully.

“Zev... what happened last night?” asked Anders softly. He glanced back over his shoulder at Leto. “What did you two talk of?”

“Pain, dark things that should have been left buried.” Leto glanced at Anders quickly before dropping his gaze. “Forgive me, I find it hard to look upon you, Anders, as my own world’s version is a cruel, cruel creature.”

Anders blinked in surprise and shock, then turned slightly to face Leto, remaining upon his knees on the ground. “Cruel? I - I don’t understand,” he faltered. “Cruel in what way?” He glanced to Invictus, then back at Leto. 

“He’s more demon than man. Vengeance owns his body and what’s left of his soul. He mocked me cruelly when...” Leto fell quiet as if to gather himself.

Anders’ eyes widened and his mouth fell open, but he was speechless. He shook his head very slightly as if in denial of what Leto had said, and his eyes sought out Invictus as though mutely pleading with him to refute Leto’s words before being drawn back to Leto himself again, dreading what the elf could be possibly steeling himself to say that could be worse than the revelation that in one version of Thedas, he had become completely possessed by the corrupted spirit that his anger had made of Justice.

“Is that why you asked why his arm wasn’t metal?” Vic asked quietly.

“Yes...I followed Anders after Kirkwall went up, I’ve promised him I would free him before he can harm anyone else. He has us to keep him in check, to stop him from truly becoming a tyrant. He scares me on occasion, but I follow out of obligation and a promise made to Endrin to free our love from his prison,” Leto said quietly before dropping his gaze to the dirt floor. 

“I’m sorry, I’d rather than not speak more of it.”

Anders stared up at him, feeling horror creep over him. This could have been his Fenris if he, Anders, had been weaker, given in to the despair that had seemed to overwhelm him at times as the number of free members of the mages’ underground had dwindled - before he had encountered the version of himself in Arden’s Thedas and Justice had been stripped away from him, near-killing him in the process. He had felt anger, resentment and loneliness in equal measure at having half his very soul, it had felt like, ripped out of him - but now as he stared up at Leto, he could clearly see one possible path his future might have taken had he never met Arden Hawke, and the prospect terrified him.

He swallowed hard. “You must hate the very sight of me,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I - that you were put through that. Are you certain that there is anything left of the man you loved still in there?”

“No...” Leto said before forcing himself to look at Anders. “You’re a kind man, far better than the version of you I know. I will adjust and deal with it as I always do.”

Anders swallowed hard. “I know you likely don’t want to hear this - from me of all people,” he said, as gently as he could as he remained upon his knees, staring up at Leto. “But Justice was stripped away from me many years ago whilst in Kirkwall, and it felt like he tore half of my soul away with him. It took a long time for me to mentally recover afterwards, and in many ways I’m still scarred from it. We’ve seen what happened when a version of me - one wholly possessed by something that we still don’t know whether it was Justice, Vengeance or what at that point - had that spirit ripped away from him here in Skyhold only three years ago and... I’m sorry, but immediately afterwards, there was... nothing left of who he had originally been. Something did come back after a while but... he was a shadow of the man he had been before.” He laughed, a little sadly. “The others thought he was my ghost for a while. And now his body is inhabited by Mythal. There... wasn’t really much left to displace, I fear.” 

He regarded Leto sadly. “There may not be anything to save by now. It... it may be kinder to let him die,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

The elf closed his eyes and tried to not give in to the despair that always threatened when he thought too long on the topic of his Anders. “I know...believe me, I know.” He glanced at the tent flap as he considered his options. “Excuse me, I need a moment alone.” Leto bolted out of the tent until he found a quiet area to compose himself.

Anders remained on his knees, staring at the tent flap as it swung behind the fleeing elf. He sighed sadly.

“Well,” he reflected quietly. “He’s certainly different from our Fenris. Fen would have grown angry with me for telling him an unwelcome truth like that. I... honestly thought he would shout at me at the very least - particularly after telling me what a cruel creature I’ve become in his world. I know what it was like when Justice took me over; sometimes there was merely a merciful blank, but often I was still aware of everything I did whilst he possessed me, and were I in this Anders’ position, trapped in my own mind and a prisoner? I think that whatever was left of me would be grateful to anyone who had the strength to put me to the knife and free me.” He dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Let’s not speak poorly of our beloved when he is not here,” Vic said as he stared at the tent flap. “I’ll stay here with Zevran if you want to go speak with Meneris.”

“It’s hardly speaking poorly of him when daddy’s only speaking the truth,” muttered Ellowynne behind them. Anders froze for a moment, then got to his feet, shaking his head at Vic as the other mage made to speak. He turned to face his daughter.

“Ellowynne, enough. Drop this. Finish your packing then look after your Uncle Zevran; I don’t want him setting foot out of this tent before I return.” He didn’t look at Zevran, even as the Antivan glared up at him. “And not a word from you either, Zevran Arainai Hawke,” he went on. “Vic, if Zevran attempts to get off that cot, please put him under with a sleep spell.” 

Invictus glanced at her briefly before getting out of Anders’ way. “As you wish, we’ll be here waiting.”

Anders pulled his robe closer about himself then reached for his staff and ducked out of the tent. Glancing around, he turned and headed towards the centre of the encampment to seek out Meneris’ tent.

The camp was busy; even in lieu of the Inquisitor’s orders, there were always jobs that had to be done merely to keep an army encampment functioning smoothly, and Anders found himself having to dodge around runners bearing messages, grooms leading trotting horses around the encampment to exercise them, other grooms dealing with the horses’ nightsoil in the corral and brushing them. The farrier was busy reshoeing a destrier that had cast a shoe from a hind foot; a carpenter was repairing a broken wheel on one of the wagons. Soldiers were running through drills, whilst others were polishing and cleaning kit. Anders had to move to one side and wait for a unit of Nevarran heavy horse to trot past before he could make his way to the heart of the encampment and the Inquisitor’s pavilion.

The main door flaps were pinned open, and runners were entering and leaving with messages from and to the other leaders of the separate forces and units that made up this small army of allies. Anders strode in and glanced around, looking for the distinctive figure of the elven warrior with the silverite arm, feeling a little out of breath after his swift walk through the encampment. 

Meneris glanced up and smiled at Anders. “I hope you all rested well,” he greeted the blond healer. He frowned when he saw the distressed look on the mages face. “What is it?”

“Meneris... can we talk privately?” asked Anders, letting a little of his exhaustion bleed into his voice. “It’s... serious.”

“Of course, let’s go to our rest area,” Meneris said as he led Anders back and offered him a drink. “You look like you could use this.”

Anders dropped into the nearest seat and took it with a nod of thanks. He was aware of Dorian rising from his own seat with a look of worry but kept his eyes on Meneris.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” he began. “It’s about Fenris. He... isn’t Fenris.” As Meneris began to frown, Anders hurried on. “You brought the wrong one back.”

“That’s not possible. I think I’d notice if I’d grabbed the one that was wielding a staff and not a sword big as I am.” Meneris just stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend what had been said. “How did ...no, come on.”

“Zevran knew,” said Anders. “He barely said two words and Zevran _knew_ he was the wrong one. And he had no staff _or_ sword when he came out with the rest of you. He looks like Fenris, he sounds like Fenris - but that man is not my husband.” He felt his chest growing tight again and he kneaded the scars over his heart with the heel of his hand absently. “Fenris... my Fenris... did not come back with you.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” said Dorian slowly.

“Staff?! He’s not a mage. Fenris isn’t...” Meneris realized he sounded rather silly but had no come back. He also felt his own chest tighten with guilt. “How do we get him back?”

“I don’t know,” Anders replied tiredly. “But Zevran doesn’t want to leave. He begged to be allowed to remain behind alone for even just one day in case Fenris should return where the rift closed. As I understand it, the Thedas he went to also has a Dorian - one who is in a relationship with Leto, the Fenris who came through here - so perhaps that Dorian might be able to find a way to send him back - or maybe Solas doesn’t control all the eluvians in their world. Zevran cannot bear the thought of Fenris returning here and finding the fortress abandoned.” He bowed his head for a moment, letting his hair hide the grimace as he shifted. The tight band around his chest was leaving him out of breath.

“Zevran has exhausted himself in any case, and I know you brought wounded back. I come to ask you to put off our departure for three more days.”

“Of course...we can also have the Chargers go ahead and we’ll wait with the wounded. I’m not too eager to get moving...right love?” Meneris asked as he turned to Dorian, stunned they’d made such a grave error. Guilt over the way he’d treated them nipped at his mind.

Dorian was staring at Anders, growing worry in his eyes. The Tevinter mage swiftly splashed more wine into Anders’ glass then crouched down next to Anders’ chair. “Anders?” he said quietly. “You’re grey.”

“Just out of breath,” Anders shook his head at Dorian then looked up at Meneris. “Thank you. Three days should at least set Zevran’s mind at ease that we’ve given Fenris a chance to make it back here; and perhaps Leto a chance to better come to terms with what’s happened to him.”

He slumped back in the chair as Dorian hastily rescued the glass. “Maker knows,” sighed Anders, “I need the rest myself.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry... I’m finding it a little hard to breathe.”

“Do we need to get your pills or Invictus? Both? Please don’t die on us after ...I think I should get Vic because Zevran might still stab me on sight,” Meneris said as he watched Anders warily.

“Left... Vic to keep Zevran in the tent... didn’t want to leave just... just Wynne to watch Zev alone,” Anders managed faintly. “I’ll... I’ll be alright... just very tired....”

“I’m going to fetch Invictus,” declared Dorian as he pushed himself up. “Call for the healers, love. I’ll be back as swiftly as I can.” 

He left the tent at a sprint, dodging past runners and ducking through between the rows of tents as he ran to find Invictus as swiftly as his feet could carry him. He sketched a hasty Fade step to speed himself on his way to the next corner, fixed his eyes on the next spot between tents, and Fade stepped again. His last Fade step brought him out directly outside their tent; he pushed his way in, in too much of a hurry to tap on the canvas door.

Zevran leapt up from the cot, his knives in his hands as he placed himself in front of Ellowynne before he recognised Dorian.

“You are in quite the hurry, my friend,” said Zevran with a frown. “What has happened to Anders?”

Dorian turned to Invictus. “He needs you. I think it’s his heart,” said Dorian without preamble. “He can’t catch his breath - said he’s very tired. His face is grey.”

Ellowynne pushed past Zevran and thrust a box of pills into Dorian’s hand. “Daddy’s pills,” she said, and glanced to Invictus.

“Get me to him,” Vic said tersely as he stepped outside the tent. “Portal. Now.”

Dorian was already calling up the energy in his hands, concentrating as he focused on the two points of the Fade that he needed to step through, running through the complicated formulae in his head as he muttered swiftly under his breath. Casting fast like this, he had no time to use his usual finesse and cast with a minimum of mana; instead he threw it into the spell headlessly as he flung open the portal and they both leapt through, directly into the room of Meneris’ tent that Dorian had left shortly before.

Meneris was pacing worriedly; Rowan Amell was crouched over Anders who lay upon the floor, breath wheezing as he stared dazedly up at nothing. Amell’s hands glowed blue as she held them over Anders’ heart. She didn’t look up even at the disturbance behind her or the massive discharge of mana as the portal snapped shut.

The sudden surge of mana caught Leto’s attention and snapped him out of his brooding. He stood just in time to catch sight of the portal winking out of existence outside of the tent where he’d left Zevran and the others. “What in the void?” 

Meanwhile Invictus had joined Ser Amell in helping with Anders, gratefully taking water from Meneris so he could get pills into his husband. Amell slipped an arm beneath Anders and lifted him up enough to be able to rest against her as Invictus tried to coax Anders to open his mouth for the pills.

“Here you go love, take some pills and just try to breathe easy. Please don’t leave us too,” he gasped as he held the goblet to Anders’ lips.

Anders stared at him almost uncomprehendingly, but obediently swallowed the water and pills.

“Vic?” he wheezed faintly. “How... here....”

“Don’t try to talk, ser,” said Amell gently but firmly. She pressed her hand against his ribs to channel healing to ease his breathing, even as she continued to try to keep his heart’s rhythm steady.

“Sorry,” Anders managed to whisper.

“Dumat, I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to get to Invictus in time,” said Dorian, hastily grabbing a cup of wine with hands that were beginning to tremble with comedown from the initial surge of adrenaline, unable to take his eyes off the sight of Invictus and Amell working to keep Anders alive.

Before Invictus could reply there was a scratching at the tent flap and a call of Dorian’s name as Leto entered partway. “Dor...Dorian, I felt the pull of your magic clear across the other side of the fortress. What happened?”

Dorian gestured bleakly at where Anders lay in Amell’s arms now, face grey and ashen and eyes closed, looking for all the world as though he were dead as Invictus held one of his hands.

“See for yourself,” the magister replied. “His heart. I think we were in time, but only because I opened the portal directly back to this spot. Couldn’t spare the time to be neat and elegant about it, so I just had to throw mana into it and brute-force it through as swiftly as possible. Don’t think I’ve ever cast a portal that swiftly in my life before.”

Leto nodded as he joined the strange armoured mage who was working on Anders. He added his power to theirs, focusing on the other man’s heart. “Zevran nor Fenris will forgive me if you die,” he muttered to himself.

Anders opened his eyes slowly at the feeling of unfamiliar magic thrumming through his body, blending with the more familiar touches of Amell and Vic. 

Unfamiliar and yet... something about it felt almost hauntingly familiar. He frowned faintly, then managed to turn his head and focused his eyes upon the white-haired warrior. No, not warrior; mage.

“Leto?” he murmured.

Dorian glanced to Meneris. “Well, if we doubted Anders’ story before,” he murmured _sotto voce_ to his husband, “I for one have no doubt in my mind that he spoke nothing but the truth. That is not Fenris Hawke.”

“I am not a Hawke of any kind, Dorian,” Leto said woodenly before closing his eyes to concentrate. 

Invictus made a ‘stop’ motion at the other mage, hopeful that he wouldn’t keep saying their surname and making the elf uncomfortable.

Anders stared up at the ceiling of the tent, his eyes unfocused, absently following the magic weaving through his body with clinical detachment - almost as though it were happening to someone else. He was aware of the buzz of quiet voices around him but made no effort to try and pick out what they were saying. 

He could feel the vibration against his back as whoever he was leaning against spoke; he was aware of someone squeezing his right hand. _Vic_ , he realised as he slowly managed to drag his gaze away from the ceiling overhead to focus on his husband’s face. Vic looked so worried; Anders tried to smile at him reassuringly.

“Not going anywhere,” he managed, his voice little more than a weak whisper - and yet even that small sound seemed to steal his breath. “Sorry, love... bit... bit worse than... my usual bad turns.”

“Meneris, ser, this man shouldn’t be moved,” said Amell as she stared up at the elf. “He is very weak. I don't think I dare move him to the infirmary tent. Are the other healers here yet?”

“We’re here, Rowan,” said Garrett as he hurried in, Pin just behind him. 

“Where are the other healers?” muttered Meneris. “Creators, could they spare no-one more senior??”

“Love, we’re down our two most senior healers,” murmured Dorian. “Anders down, Hal gone - and well over half of our people who came with us into the Fade were wounded in one way or another, including many of our healers. The Chantry mages are taking up the slack where they can but they have wounded of their own.” 

Pin halted as she stared down at Anders and her hand flew to her mouth in shock, oblivious to the presence of the white-haired elf. 

“Master Anders!” she cried, distressed. “Dumat, no!” She hastened around to take Amell’s place as she swiftly called up healing spirits to help her, even as Garrett took a position by Anders’ feet and laid a hand upon Anders’ ankle, his gaze unfocusing as he let a thread of his own magic flow into the stricken mage to monitor him. Amell kept one hand on Anders’ shoulder as she moved aside for Pin, keeping up the flow of healing magic and deftly guiding Pin’s raw magic even as it flowed into Anders and the healing spirits augmented their efforts. Pin’s eyes were closed as some unfelt wind stirred her hair.

Leto didn’t dare move from his spot but he flinched at hearing his daughters voice. He kept quiet as he worked so he didn’t have another loss of control. Instead he put all of his attention into healing. 

Leto didn’t dare move from his spot but he flinched at hearing his daughter’s voice. He kept quiet as he worked so he didn’t have another loss of control. Instead he put all of his attention into healing. Vic held on to Anders’ hand, fearful the other man was going to perish before him. “Don’t leave us, don’t leave us...I’m begging you Andraste, please don’t take him from us,” Vic prayed as he sat with his husband.

Anders felt the sudden powerful surge of Pin’s magic through him, guided by the experienced and trained older Chantry battlemage, and it seemed to waken something inside his body as he felt his own innate spirit healer’s gifts awaken. Something seemed to give inside, and then it was as if the crushing tight metal band around his chest snapped, and he was able to take a deeper breath - and with it, the pain in his chest receded a little. He groaned faintly in relief and took another breath as he let his eyes drift closed.

“Touch and go, there,” muttered Garrett. “Keep it up, Pin. Don’t like the sound of his lungs. Maker - so much wrong with - ugh, this is a bit of a mess.” He glanced up. “Invictus, ser, has Master Anders had a bad shock or something? There are stress hormones flooding his body.”

“I felt that too,” nodded Amell as she continued to let her healing magic flow. “I was trying to mitigate it, but keeping his heart beating was the more pressing need.”

“Quite right too,” said Garrett. He sighed. “And after the Skyhold healers did so much work to heal the original damage, as well. I’ll be heartily glad when we can get him back there and Master Anders can be back in the care of the hospital there; we’re battlefield medics, not specialists like them. And I’ve nowhere near the training any of the other healers have.” He glanced up at Amell. “You’re our most senior healer now, Ser Amell,” he added.

“I’ll ask Knight Commander Hawke to assign me to the Inquisitor’s staff to accompany you back to Skyhold,” said Amell distantly, her senses still within Anders’ weakened body, strengthening it even as she continued to guide Pin’s inexperienced healing.

Invictus simply nodded at the white-haired elf helping them heal. “We all got a damned shock but he’s the one with a weak heart.”

Garrett glanced at Leto then did a double-take as he saw the unthinkable - Pin’s father casting healing magic. He looked back at Invictus, startled; the older man merely shook his head at Garrett and indicated the oblivious Pin with a meaningful look.

The healers worked in a silence that was only broken by a few terse words here and there, and punctuated by the sounds of Meneris and Dorian’s feet as the two men paced restlessly, helpless to assist. It was almost an hour later when Garrett finally straightened and glanced around at the others. “I think he’s out of danger,” he said in a low voice. “Well done everyone.”

Amell opened her eyes and glanced down; Anders was now peacefully sleeping in Pin’s arms, his hand still cradled in Vic’s warm grasp. Pin was opening her own eyes dazedly and glancing around. Amell patted her on the shoulder. 

“Well done, lass,” she said gently. “What you lack in knowledge of healing, you more than make up for in sheer raw power and your way with spirits. The rest will come with time.”

“I wish Hal and Arden were still here,” Pin sniffed, tears starting to come now the immediate danger was past. She glanced around and then halted as the white-haired elf opened his eyes and sat back. “...Papa?” she asked in surprise. “I’m so sorry, Papa, I never noticed you - I was so focused on Master Anders! But - then - if it was you sat at my left, Invictus at my right, Ser Amell just behind me and Garrett at Master Anders’ feet... whose was the strange magic I could also feel?”

“Pin,” said Vic gruffly. “That’s... not your father.”

**

Zevran paced restlessly. “ _Mi cuore_ needs me,” he said; one hand running through his hair distractedly. “This is my fault! Last night I drove him to the point of collapse for fear of what I would do, and now he collapses again when he has gone to Meneris for my sake!”

“Uncle Zevran, my father’s collapse last night wasn’t your fault!” said Ellowynne as she watched him pace from her position near the tent exit. “You’ll only make your leg worse - _please_ , _Zio_ , my father wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself further!”

Zevran halted and stared at her, his eyes haunted and full of self-reproach. “Ah, _mia figlia_ , much though I chafe to act, yet you are right.” 

He seated himself back down on the low cot and gave her a sad look. “We left you a child, and you have come to us as a young woman. You have a wisdom far beyond your years, _il mio bambino_.”

“I grew up in the circle,” she shrugged. “How many men had you killed by my age, _mio Zio_?”

“Twelve,” he said softly.

She swallowed hard. “I killed five men on the road who waylaid me, _Zio_.”

“Ohhh... _mio bambino, mia figlia_!” He spread his arms wide, and after a moment she threw herself into his arms and clung to him as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her safe as she sobbed. “Ah, my little Wynne,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “ _Mia figlia. Il mio bambino._ ”

“ _I was so frightened, Uncle!_ ” she managed to gasp out in Antivan.

“ _My precious girl,_ ” murmured Zevran. “ _It is not a good feeling, to kill._ ”

“ _How can you do it, Uncle?_ ” she asked, pulling away to stare tearfully up into his eyes.

“ _Truly?_ ” he asked, sadly. “ _Because I must. Because if I do not, then people will die. Invictus. Fenris. Your father. You, Pin, Callus, the twins, and more. But do not think I ever take pleasure in death, little one. It all steals a little more from my soul, and sickens me. I do it because I must - and because I am what the Crows made of me: a weapon._ ” 

He sighed. “ _I long for the day I may lay my blades down. I am tired of death. I want to grow old with my loves; I wish to die an old, old man in my bed when you, Pin and Callus are well grown - with loved ones, maybe children of your own._ ” He smiled wistfully. “ _I wish I could one day hold a grandchild upon my knee before I die. And I love you as though you were a child of my own loins, Ellowynne; you are the child of my heart. I would see you grown and wed, with a love of your own._ ”

“ _Oh, Uncle Zevran... No, you are more than an Uncle to me,_ ” Ellowynne corrected herself. “ _You have been a father to me from the start. Papa. Papa Zevran._ ”

Zevran’s eyes widened. “ _Sweet Ellowynne_ ,” he breathed. “ _My precious child. Nothing would delight me more than to be your Papa._ ”

“ _Papa Zevran_ ,” she murmured. “ _Don’t leave me. Stay. My father will be so worried for you. I’m worried for him, and I am afraid for you. Stay with me here. I need you._ ”

Zevran regarded her sombrely. “ _Yes,_ ” he finally nodded. “ _For you, I will stay... my daughter._ ”

 

_Il mio bambino_ : My child.  
_Mia figlia_ : My daughter  
_Zio_ : Uncle


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pin is distraught, and Dorian gets more than he bargained for.

Leto looked at the red headed girl, so like his own Vulpine but she seemed happier; less angry at the world. “Invictus is correct, I’m not your ...papa. My name is Leto, and there’s been a mix-up in which both of us went to the wrong Thedas I’m afraid.” 

Pin stared at him; after a moment she gave him a hesitant, nervous grin. “Papa? This is... this is some joke, right?” She glanced to Invictus. “Uncle Vic, that’s really not funny, you....” Her voice tailed off as Invictus continued to stare at her, his expression serious.

“No,” she breathed. “No. Father. Where... Uncle Vic, where is my father?” Her arms tightened reflexively around Anders as she cast wild eyes at Leto. “Where is _my father??_ ” she repeated as she shrank away from him, her arms now crossed protectively over Anders as he lay with his head in her lap, still deeply unconscious. A stray breeze stirred her hair then began to whirl around them; faint voices could be half-heard in the air.

“In my world I’m afraid, Vulpine. I’m so sorry, believe me I don’t want to… I wanted to go home,” Leto said quietly as he backed away from her and dropped his gaze. 

“I wish I was joking but I can’t and wouldn’t do this to you, nor would your papa. This is Leto, another version of him but not your father. I’m sorry Pin,” Vic added. 

“No!” whispered Pin in anguish. She flung up her hands, and a barrier crackled into place around her and the comatose Anders as she pulled him further away from Leto then wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as she buried her face in Anders’ hair. Her shoulders began to shake as she wept into Anders’ hair. “Papa gone... and my master so ill... Master, don’t die! I need you!” she whispered brokenly.

Leto glanced at Invictus before making his way to the tent flap. “I’ll go so she’s not distressed further. Forgive me if I am a bit distant… this is too much.” 

“Go on, I’ll find you later,” Vic said as he watched the elf leave. 

“Pin, let the barrier down please. Leto isn’t your father, but he’s not going to hurt any of us. Trust me, he’s damned miserable here and we’re along for the ride until we get your papa back,” Vic said tiredly.

Pin sobbed as she clung to Anders, but he felt the barrier flicker and then die. 

“I want my father back,” she gasped. “I want my master. I... I want to go home....”

“I want Fenris back too Pin, but try to understand that Leto is surrounded by strangers that look like people he knows and he’s alone here. I’m trying and it's hard not to think he’s Fenris but I know he’s not. It has to be hard to hear us wish for our version of him and not feel bad. Just try, ok?” Vic said softly. 

She finally lifted her head, eyes red and cheeks wet with tears. “I’m sorry, Uncle Vic,” she managed as she gently stroked a hand through Anders’ hair. “When you and Papa went ahead with the Inquisitor and Hal and Arden, I had to stay with the other battlemages - even Cal wasn’t with us, he was with the Wardens and their warriors. I knew you were alright because you were giving us our orders - but then there were so many demons, and I’d never fought demons before though Marian had and... and....” Tears shimmered in her eyes again and her lip trembled. “I was so _scared_ ,” she gasped. “Marian - she’d, she’d fought that demon in Nevarra, but I’ve never done anything like that before - not since I was Xerxeus’ slave - and, and I didn’t know where Papa was or if he was alright and then -” She began to sob again.

“And then Hal - Arden was d-d-dead, and Hal st-stayed behind and... and now Papa’s g-gone and my m-master is sick and -” She couldn’t get any more words out as she doubled over and clutched at Anders, who was still limp and unresponsive in her arms. 

Invictus frowned slightly at the Uncle Vic comment but said nothing. Instead he rose so he could find Callas and Marian for Pin instead of him. If anyone could help it would be her wife and sibling, since nothing seemed to calm the girl. Luck was with him as he found both near the battlemages’ tents.

“Pin needs both of you, she’s rather distraught over the news about Fenris.” Vic bounced on the balls of his feet anxiously as he waited for them. 

“Oh Maker. Thanks, Enchanter Invictus,” nodded Marian. “C’mon, Cal, we’d best get over there.” She glanced around. “Oh, Andraste’s flaming arse, where’s Garrett when I need him? ... never mind. Let’s go.”

Vic led them to the tent quickly, not speaking even as he lifted the tent flap and followed them in. He hung back with Meneris and Dorian, wishing he could do something to soothe his step-daughter.

Anders had been gently laid out on a cot; there was a little more colour in his cheeks and he was no longer grey; his face was still very pale however, and he had not stirred as Meneris and Dorian had carefully moved him. Pin was kneeling beside the cot, holding Anders’ limp hand as she stared into his face anxiously.

“I fear there is little more we can do for either of them,” confided Dorian in a low voice as Marian crouched down beside her wife and hugged her, Cal dropping down to one knee in front of his sister and talking to her softly, one hand resting lightly upon her shoulder. “Invictus, you know Pin better than we do. She seems utterly distraught over Anders’ current condition. Maybe I’m speaking out of turn, but would I be correct in thinking that she views Anders as a surrogate father figure - far more than you or Zevran? Because if that’s the case then I have more than half a mind to suggest she stay the night here. We can have another cot brought in; it would be no trouble at all.”

“Fine, that’s fine. She used to call me … never mind. Get her a cot and I’m going to let Zevran know what’s going on before he comes charging in here,” Vic said tiredly before glancing at them. 

“Can one of you find Leto? Though I don’t know how he’ll react to you, Dorian, considering how he feels about the other you in his world. I’m afraid he’s doing just as badly as as some of us right now, but we know this place and he doesn’t know us,” Vic asked.

Dorian dropped his gaze to one side, unable to meet either Vic or Meneris’ gaze. “I fear being here in Adamant is doing none of us any good, but given the state of many of our wounded - well, moving them has been out of the question, least of all Anders after suffering....” His voice trailed off as he stared at the unconscious man. “That was more than a bad turn,” he finished bleakly. “I fear we nearly lost him.” 

He glanced back up to Vic. “I’ll go find him, never fear.” He patted Vic on the shoulder. “Don’t take Pin’s reaction to heart,” he suggested softly. “She’s a terrified young woman. It’s not like you or I - we’ve fought countless demons before, and combative magic comes naturally to us. Her only experience with demons has been as a slave in Tevinter. We must make allowances, hmm?” He smiled at Vic sympathetically. “Go find Zevran and Ellowynne,” he suggested. “I’ll find Leto.”

“Are you sure Dorian? I’d rather not upset everyone today,” Vic replied.

Dorian smiled faintly. “Go find your other stepdaughter and husband, Invictus,” he replied. He glanced to Meneris. “Though I shan’t say no to a glass of that excellent Antivan red when I get back - and I dare say Leto could use a drink as well.” He nodded to Invictus. “I’ll be back in a while.”

The Tevinter magister turned and headed towards the tent flap, a slightly trepidatious air about him.

He emerged into the cool air of the desert night, and glanced around. Even at this hour, the encampment wasn’t silent; there were sentries patrolling, and from the corral came the soft nickering of a horse. He glanced around, then headed out into the fortress, seeking one man alone in the shadows. off in the gloom he could just about make out the darker bulk which was the body of the dead black dragon; whilst the bodies of the Venatori and red templars had been cleaned away into a large pyre beyond the fortress walls and incinerated whilst they were in the Fade, the dragon’s body was too vast to do other than leave it to rot.

He picked his way around still faintly smoking pools of dragon’s blood and walked on.

“Leto?” he called, his voice low. “Void, I hope you’re here somewhere... Leto?”

The elf had retreated to one of the few spaces that felt private, where he could just sit and think away from all of them. He thought he heard his name, but chalked it up to how tired and emotionally drained he was. Surely no one was seeking him out.

Dorian halted, his gaze drawn once more to the dead dragon. He remembered the dragons in the Fade - white, gold, red; the green one at one point... and the black dragon. He shuddered, feeling uneasy suddenly for some nameless reason.

“Leto, I do hope you’re out here,” he said nervously, hating the way his voice quavered. _Dumat_ \- this was ridiculous; he was a _necromancer_. There was no reason why he should feel uneasy around a dead dragon. Next he’d be fancying it was _watching_ him.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” he muttered to himself. “Leto, I swear, if you’re hiding somewhere then - well - Leto, damn it, where _are_ you??” he hissed. “ _Venhedis_ , I should have stayed in the tent with Meneris and just drunk myself stupid.”

The elf could see him wandering around and he debated even responding to him, but decided it wouldn’t help to hide out. He approached him, but the mage was so intent on searching he never heard the elf approach. Leto finally tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Looking for me?” 

Startled, Dorian visibly jumped and uttered a small scream as he whirled, eyes wide to stare at the elf who had loomed at him seemingly out of nowhere. He stared up into the green eyes that regarded him almost impassively, as it appeared, and swallowed hard. “Leto,” he finally managed. “You - you startled me.”

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to do so. Did you need something Dorian?” Leto asked quietly as he glanced away from familiar grey eyes.

“Simply worried about you, _am-_ ” He broke off and swallowed back the endearment that had sprung unthinking to his lips. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “I know you must be missing your _amatus_. I didn’t mean to cause you further pain.” He glanced away. “I know I am likely the last person you want following you. But I was... concerned for you.” He had glanced aside, all too aware that the elf had averted his eyes from his face.

The elf sniffed and turned away quickly. “It's...fine, it’s fine, Dorian. I just needed to leave after seeing Vulpine so afraid and worried for your version of me. It’s painful being here; I didn’t have much in my world, but to come here - find my son still lives, my daughter actually adores her father here and ... he is so well loved when I’m so damned lonely and….” Leto broke off as he covered his mouth and tried not to let the other man see him shattering.

Dorian found himself reaching out to lay a hand gently on Leto’s arm. “I am so very sorry,” he said sincerely. “When I first came south - and indeed, until well after we arrived in Skyhold - I was very lonely myself. Whilst I may never have _quite_ found myself in your situation, I... understand loneliness.” 

As Leto glanced back at him, he saw only sincerity and empathy in the soft grey eyes that regarded him steadily. Not pity, or sympathy; merely an understanding of another’s suffering.

“What do you need, Leto?” asked Dorian softly. “I don’t think I can return you to your own world - though you may rest assured I shall do all in my power to assist - but here and now, what do you need? How can I help you?” 

“I don’t know,” Leto whispered. “I’m in a world without the one I’ve opened my heart to after so long, and all the other versions of people I know are strangers to me. Zevran has been kind but he’s not ….” The elf closed his eyes and tried to get himself together. “I don’t know, I’m scared and I wish I could go home,” the elf admitted finally. 

“And he’s not _your_ Zevran,” nodded Dorian. “I tell you what. I have some decent Antivan back in our tent. Why don’t you come share it with me? Or -” He broke off, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “I can take us back to Skyhold. There’d be no-one there right now. If you truly wish some privacy _am-_ forgive me, Leto - then I can take us there. Meneris would understand, I think.”

“I’m sorry, what? How in the void would we get back to Skyhold tonight?” Leto asked warily. 

“Why, a portal of course!” replied Dorian with an offhand shrug. “You remember - it was the energy discharge of my portal earlier that drew you to follow me, hmm? I pumped more mana into that than was strictly necessary - I was sacrificing finesse for expedience to get Invictus back to Anders’ side with his pills. We’ve nearly lost Anders before due to his weak heart; it would be very bad indeed if Anders were to die right now, and I was deathly afraid we wouldn’t be able to return in time.”

“That’s what you were doing? Interesting….” Leto sounded curious, which was better than the ragged sobbing he’d been on the verge of moments before. “How does it even work? I would like to know.”

“Oh, trivial when you understand the mechanics,” shrugged Dorian. “When you teleport, it’s less that you’re travelling through the Fade, so much as you are folding the Fade to touch at two points and then step through - do you see? We Tevinter mages have a similar ability - a Fade step spell, though generally only used to briefly get one out of danger from one side of a melee to another. Once I’d observed how y- how Fenris teleported, it was a simple exercise to work out how to modify the Fade-stepping spell to cast a portal to anywhere I’ve been and know well.” He waved a hand airily. “Take it far enough and calculate the correct position of the stars anywhere up to a week previously or so and take an adequate amount of lyrium and it’s possible to actually travel through time as well as space. Hal even managed an entire month, though it very nearly killed him to do so, as I understand it. But the theory behind a portal is simple and sound.”

“I...see. This is how you’d get us back to Skyhold tonight - and your husband would not mind?” Leto asked hopefully.

“I shall pop in on him and let him know where we shall be, but no - he will quite understand,” Dorian assured him, then gave a rueful chuckle. “I have very much learned my lesson about hopping off without notice,” he added. 

“Very well, I will be here unless you wish me to come with you,” the elf said as he finally looked at this Dorian.

“I shall be back momentarily - wait here,” replied Dorian with a nod, then headed back towards the encampments as swiftly as his legs would carry him.

“I’ll be here, waiting by the rotting dragon corpse I guess,” Leto said as he leaned against the remaining brick wall. 

Dorian hurried back to the tent he shared with Meneris. Anders was fast asleep, and Pin was now resting on a second cot nearby. Dorian glanced over to his husband, who was sitting on their own bed, a glass of wine in his hand, though he rose and moved to join Dorian as the magister entered. He gestured towards the outer room of the tent and Dorian nodded, quietly backing away from the two sleeping mages.

“You found him then?” said Meneris in a low voice as the curtain dropped closed behind them.

Dorian nodded. “I fear being around Zevran, Anders and Invictus is proving rather difficult to handle, _amatus_ ,” he said quietly. “He’s feeling rather overwhelmed. I’m thinking that it might be a good idea if I were to take him with me back to Skyhold, at least for tonight. Now this business with Nightmare is over, there should be no further danger in using portals, and ours is a much smaller force than the army we had with us the first time we marched on Adamant. So I propose to take Leto back to Skyhold, and then marshal the mages in the college come morning. If I open a large portal here, they can anchor it and we can keep it open long enough to move us back and let the Chargers and Wardens move out afterwards.” He gave Meneris one of his charming smiles. “Far neater and swifter for us, and in the meantime I can calm our guest down and perhaps he will be more himself in what should be more familiar surroundings, hmm?”

Meneris glanced at him curiously. “What about you? He has a version of you in his world, won’t that be upsetting to him?” the elf asked.

“Possibly having just me to deal with instead of so many mirrors of people he knows will be easier to deal with,” suggested Dorian. “And from what I could see, my... mirror self... appeared to be his _amatus_. Perhaps he might be more inclined to relax around me. And if not then I am capable of keeping my hands to myself and leaving him in peace and quiet - I’ll simply move into a different room somewhere I will have no associations for him so he need not lay eyes upon me until morning when hopefully he should feel more capable of dealing with matters. What say you?”

“And if he tries to lay hands upon you because he misses his version of you? I know you miss Fenris as well, would you wish to comfort him in such a way?” Meneris asked.

“Only if such comfort to him would not come at a detriment to you, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian softly. “If you wish me to be entirely hands off then I shall be - I won’t do anything to hurt or upset _you_ , _amatus_. After all, he isn’t truly my _amicus_ , and my first duty is to you, Meneris.”

The elf pondered his husband’s words for a bit before giving him a smile. “If that winds up being the case, you may comfort him in that way. After all, I have no objections to you and Fenris; and he’s just another version of your _amicus_ after all. Be safe and I’ll see you tomorrow love.” Meneris leaned up and kissed Dorian until he needed some air. “Love you.”

“And I love you, Meneris,” Dorian breathed as he returned the kiss. “Sleep well, _amatus_. Call me via the ring if anything happens or if Anders’ condition worsens.” He gave Meneris a gentle smile, then headed back towards where he had left Leto.

Truth be told, he couldn’t entirely tamp down on the little _frisson_ of excitement he felt stirring inside as he headed back across the inner courtyard of the ruined fortress towards the immense black bulk of the decaying dragon. He knew there were differences between Fenris and Leto, but right now any differences in character were hard to tell apart from the shock and unease the man was experiencing at present; Dorian hoped that Leto would unwind a little in the quieter, more familiar surroundings of Skyhold and perhaps he, Dorian, would have a better chance of getting to know this stranger from another Thedas with such a familiar face and voice.

“Leto?” he called quietly as he got closer to the dead dragon. “Leto, are you... are you still here?” He peered around, his human eyes less suited to the inky darkness of the ruins this far away from the camp than those of the elf.

“I”m here Dorian, ready to go whenever you are,” the elf said as he approached. He seemed tired and sad before he seemed to remember this man wasn’t his Dorian; and let his mask settle in place. 

“Oh good - I was afraid....” Dorian shook himself. “Never mind - it doesn’t matter. Shall we?” He gave Leto one of his dazzling smiles as he turned to create the portal.

He knew he was showing off a little as he gathered the energies and then abruptly threw out the ring of green flames to form the portal anchor at this end; his gestures used a trifle more flourish than was strictly necessary and he threw perhaps a little more mana into it than the spell truly required as he followed it up with the modified Fade step necessary to fold the Fade and open the other half of the portal directly in the Inquisitor’s quarters. There might have been a little entirely superfluous addition of twinkling lights that shimmered in the air as the portal settled.

He turned back to Leto and gestured with a courteous smile. “After you.”

“Al...alright,” Leto said as he stepped through the portal, more curious than afraid of it as he watched Dorian carefully to see how he closed it. “That is a damned useful trick.”

“Well, it is now that Nightmare’s been destroyed,” Dorian nodded as he strode into the room, letting the portal collapse behind them with a snap of his fingers - that gesture, too, was entirely unnecessary, but Dorian was aware of Leto’s scrutiny and couldn’t resist playing up to it. “We had to put a moratorium on any mage using a portal until we could be certain nothing could get through on the coattails of any teleporting mage - there were some unpleasant incidents.”

His eyes went involuntarily to the point where a couple of months previously (Void, had it really been that long?) he had been forced to drop Anders with a spirit bolt when the healer succumbed to the influence of a fear demon and was on the verge of attacking Fenris. If they’d known at the time that Fenris himself had already been under the influence of a rage demon, Dorian might well have hesitated.

He frowned, and glanced back at Leto. “Forgive me asking, but... you appear entirely unfamiliar with portal spells - I must confess I am wildly curious as to what tipped _your_ people off to the continued threat of Nightmare?”

“That demon discovered something was off and made us set off for Nightmare. I mean the demon that leads the Inquisition. I guess like knows like,” Leto said as he looked around the room, his curiosity overtaking his concern at being in their version of Skyhold. “Is this your room?”

“Mine and Meneris’, yes,” nodded Dorian as he walked towards the side cabinet where he kept brandy and a few bottles of wine. He casually began unbuckling his outer tunic as he walked; the night was mild, the spring air refreshing after the heat of the Western Approach. He threw the tunic over the back of the nearby couch and started unbuckling the long leather sleeve. “Would you care for wine?”

“Yes please,” Leto said as he walked around the room as he waited for the wine. “I wonder if Vengeance keeps his rooms like this; I avoid entering them unless I absolutely have to, and it keeps to itself,” the elf mage said as he wandered.

Dorian threw the sleeve on top of the tunic and stretched, wincing as his spine gave an audible crack. “Dumat, but I shall be glad to sleep in a real bed tonight and not that damnable camp bed,” he groaned as he arched over backwards a little, then turned to reach for the wine.

“I admit a nice bed will be pleasant.” Leto trailed his fingers over the fine, dark wood as he watched Dorian. He smirked when he noticed the way the other man stretched. It reminded him of his beloved mage. His attention was caught by a hint of red among the bedding, very bright even in the dim room. 

“You’re more like my Dorian than I realized,” Leto said as he let the rope trail over his hand. 

“Hmm?” Dorian walked over, one glass of wine held out towards Leto, then chuckled when he saw the rope. As Leto accepted the glass, Dorian untied the rope and coiled it in his hands. “I’m sorry, that must have been forgotten for - Dumat, a couple of months now! The maids must have been too scandalised to tidy it away.” He gave Leto a wink. “I do like to keep them on their toes,” he confided. He ran the rope slowly through his hands then threw a loop of it around his throat and grinned at Leto. “Red is so my colour, don’t you think?” 

The elf’s mouth went a bit dry at Dorian’s display. “Ye...yes. It suits you rather well I think,” Leto said as he stared at the mage and tried to remember this wasn’t his magister. “Do you always leave rope around like this, or use it so often?” he asked quietly.

“Not always,” replied Dorian as he walked over to one of the bedposts where another length of rope was still tied. He toyed with it, absently winding it around his bare wrist with a far-away look in his eyes. “But I do like to be... indulged in it, from time to time.” He paused, the smile growing wistful. “Fenris likes to indulge me... even more than Meneris,” he said softly. “But I suppose....” He was silent for a moment, then glanced back to Leto as though suddenly recalling who he was speaking to. “Forgive me - I was lost in thought for a moment there.” He gave Leto a wry smile, and was rewarded by the elf giving him a slow smile in return, unaware of how much the elf’s heart had sped up at the sight of the rope around his wrist.

Dorian shrugged. “You could say I was a little tied up in my own thoughts,” he joked. _Dumat, of all the corny lines - get yourself together, Pavus, you’re supposed to be taking his mind off things, not flirting with him!_ He couldn’t help it though; flirting came to him as naturally as breathing, and this close the elf looked, sounded and - yes, smelled like Fenris. Of course, if this _had_ been Fenris, Dorian would likely have found himself pushed down upon the bed by now, Fenris’ hand down his pants, the other hand fisting Dorian’s hair and the elf’s tongue down his throat - preferably just before the elf’s cock.

He couldn’t help it. At that treacherous little thought, his eyes dropped involuntarily to Leto’s groin and he unconsciously licked his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue before dragging his eyes back up to the elf’s face.

Leto was staring at him, eyes flicking back up to the mage’s face as he gave a slight smile. “Do you always size up strange elves like you want them to shag you senseless or is it just me?” The elf came up to him and let his fingers trail up to the loop of rope still around Dorian’s neck. 

Dorian’s mouth went dry. “Why can’t it be both?” he found himself murmuring. “Or maybe I was just measuring you up for size....” He tilted his head back a little. “Or maybe I was just wondering what you taste like,” he whispered. “You are so very.... familiar to me... your voice, your face... even your scent. And I find myself wondering....”

Without thinking, Dorian found himself sinking to his knees in front of Leto, one hand still bound in rope twisted around his wrist as he stared up at Leto, the other hand reaching for the ties of the elf’s leggings; he paused before he could touch them however. “Leto... before - before I move another inch... I need to know that I am not overstepping a boundary here. Say the word and I shall stop, find somewhere else to sleep, and I shall not speak of this again.” He waited, his eyes on the elf’s face and not the bulge in his pants right at Dorian’s face level, even though he could smell the other man’s arousal.

“What about your husband? After all, I am not your Fenris and I will not do this without knowing it's allowed. The last thing I need is another Inquisitor that hates me,” Leto said as he stared down at Dorian, eager but unwilling to start without knowing.

“I have his blessing,” replied Dorian quietly. “He was... aware this might happen. Possibly better than I did.” He smiled wryly. “He knows me better than I know myself sometimes.” He finally let his gaze go to Leto’s groin. “So, should I find myself with your ample cock firmly down my throat, you may rest assured that you need not fear any retribution from Meneris.” He licked his lips again. “And I do hope that cock _will_ be down my throat before much longer,” he added very softly.

Leto ran his fingers through the other man’s hair as he contemplated him. “One more question, how rough do you get? I can be...brutal but I can also heal any damage I do; and often have to for my Dorian to get out of bed the next day. I do not wish to cross any lines.” 

“I don’t do bodily fluids or verbal humiliation,” said Dorian quietly. “Nor can I say I’ve a fondness for breathplay, though I can appreciate why others do. I have no especial fondness for pain either, though I can take it. I prefer no bruising that lasts more than a day or two; I am also exceptionally nervous of knives wielded anywhere near me in bed. But I am no stranger to rough sex and I do not break easily.” His eyes flicked back up to Leto. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, it does. I can go much further with him but I will not do more than you allow. Now strip before I get impatient,” Leto snarled as he stepped back and tugged his tunic off.

Dorian rose to his feet and unwound the rope from his wrist before starting to strip off his remaining clothes. He folded his clothes neatly and set them aside on a nearby chair then turned back to face the elf. “There; save my rings, I am now as naked as the day I was born,” he smiled. “Though far less innocent. How do you want me?”

Leto grinned at him and pulled him up to face him. “I want you wearing that rope and my cock in your mouth, that good enough?” 

Dorian’s eyes darkened and his breath came a little quicker; he lifted his hands and held out his wrists a little. “Care to... dress me?” he breathed.

The elf didn’t smile as he tied Dorian’s wrists together before he took the rope around Dorian’s neck and made a second loop of it about the magister’s throat before connecting it to the rope binding his wrists. “It won’t tug on your throat unless I really shove you down on the floor and hurt you. Dig your nails into my thigh if I am pushing too hard. Now get on your knees.” Leto wanted to get rough as he normally would but held himself in check, barely.

Dorian swallowed hard as he obediently went to his knees. The rope around his throat bothered him; far more than he cared to let on. He kept his eyes on Leto’s groin however, lifting his wrists a little - just enough to give himself a little more slack around his neck. He took a slow, deep breath to steady himself, falling back a little on his training in mental discipline as he sought his position of inner calm in his mind. He was going to make this good for Leto.

The elf frowned as he caught the mage’s movement. “What’s wrong? I know that look on my own Dorian’s face; speak up or we stop,” Leto said.

Startled, Dorian glanced up at Leto. “Nothing, I’m - I’m fine,” he denied. “It’s just been a while, is all.” He smiled. “I told you, I enjoy rope - and I’m quite curious as to what you have planned for me.” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m quite sure it goes beyond a little light bondage, after all. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet when you have me right on my knees at your feet?” He put just the slightest hint of derision into his voice - the tone of voice that stopped short of being mocking but always invariably resulted in Fenris’ cock either down his throat or ( _Venhedis, Dumat, please!!_ ) up his arse in very short order. He was rewarded by the sight of Leto’s nostrils flaring slightly as the elf’s eyes darkened, just before the elf’s hand snarled itself in his hair and his head was wrenched back to look Leto in the eye.

“That’s far more what I had in mind,” Dorian managed breathlessly.

“Bossy little sod aren’t you?” Leto snarled as he reached down and snapped the connection between Dorian’s wrists and neck. “I could tell you were afraid, I’ve seen my Dorian react that way before. Is that better?” 

Dorian couldn’t hold back the choked gasp as the rope around his throat tightened painfully, cutting off his breath before the rope snapped and he could snatch a gulp of air. “Alright! Al-alright,” he panted. “I understand. I get it. I-I can’t abide anything around my neck, breathplay has me in a panic. I wanted to be good for you but - but I’m sorry, I....” he closed his eyes and fought to bring his breathing under control before opening them again to return the elf’s stare. “Please. I still want this. I promise I will be honest if you do anything else I am uncomfortable with, alright? Just.... please. Continue.” He allowed a hint of pleading to creep into his voice as he stared up at Leto.

“I don’t want you to be afraid or not like anything we’re doing, don’t lie to me Dorian,” Leto said as he stepped back and slipped out of his trousers, easing them down slowly before he grabbed a handful of dark hair and pulled the other man forward. “You were talking about sucking?” 

Dorian leaned forward, his lips already parting to swallow down Leto’s cock. He closed his eyes as he felt Leto’s thick girth slide into his mouth and he pushed forward until he was almost choking on Leto’s member, his nose pressed to the soft white curls at the base of the elf’s dick as he deliberately swallowed before pulling slowly back, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked upon Leto’s flesh with a muffled moan and swirled his tongue about the head before opening his eyes to gaze up at the elf then swallowing him down again. He had the satisfaction of hearing Leto groan before the elf’s hips thrust forward, his cock sliding in those last fractions of an inch to hit the back of Dorian’s throat. The magister swallowed again, and managed an encouraging sound.

Dumat, but he was loving this. The rope around his wrists, on his knees, helpless with a thick cock being forced further down his throat, a hand snarled almost painfully tight in his hair as Leto’s hips rolled, thrusting his cock deeper into Dorian’s throat. He almost couldn’t wait to feel that long, thick cock thrusting into his body, fucking him into the mattress. He could feel his own member lying heavy and neglected against his thighs, weeping slightly.

Leto pulled back reluctantly and yanked Dorian to his feet. “Bed...oil, now,” he ordered, eager to take this other Dorian for a ride.

“Left side table,” gasped Dorian as he sprawled upon the bed. He got himself onto his knees, face pressed into the pillows as he spread his legs. “Don’t hold back,” he urged Leto. 

“Don’t... tempt me,” the elf said as he uncorked the oil, hands almost trembling as he slipped a finger in, twisting just a bit as he tried not to rut against Dorian’s leg. “You’re tight...damn.” 

Dorian gave a tremulous moan. “I’m... I’m sure you can loosen me up,” he gasped. “I’m... no stranger to Fenris’ fist. I know I can take you.” He spread his legs a little farther apart. “Fenris would break me so beautifully,” he groaned. “Give - give me more; I can take it!” 

Leto growled as he added another finger and leaned in to nip at Dorian’s neck. “You even smell like him, this is driving me mad.” He pressed the tips of his fangs a little harder before adding a third finger, thrusting faster, deeper. 

Dorian gasped at the feeling of fangs digging into his skin; without thinking, he twisted his head a little to the side, baring more of his throat as he pushed back into Leto’s thrusts. “A- a - am -” He couldn’t get the word out. He groaned. He could feel his cock dripping. “Fuck me,” he begged. “Leto... please. Fuck me!”

“You beg just as well as he does, _amatus_ ,” Leto rumbled in his ear before pulling back to oil his cock. “I wonder if you scream like he does?” the elf said before thrusting into his very willing partner. 

The scream Dorian gave went straight to Leto’s groin. Dorian’s eyes widened as he felt the painful burn of the elf sheathing his cock fully in his flesh. It hurt, a little more than he was expecting - and yet he knew from all the times he’d lain with Fenris that it should soon feel so good. Dorian panted, eyes wide. “Leto,” he gasped. “Dumat - _Leto!_ ”

It was like Fenris and yet so much more. Skin to skin, the elf’s cock thrusting deep inside him with bruising force, his wrists struggling mindlessly against the rope, the burn only adding to the flood of sensations as the endorphins built in his body. The feel of lyrium touching his skin, inside him - and something more.

Magic.

“Leto,” he breathed, his breath torn in ragged gasps from his throat with every syllable. “M-magic. Please. Please!” He felt himself opening up inside, his own magic rising to the surface in unconscious reaction to the latent magic inside Leto - waiting, receptive, as was Dorian’s body.

The elf laughed as he thrust harder, one hand sliding down to caress the other man’s ass as he let his power surface, trickles of electricity slipped over his bed mate’s body as he snapped his hips harder and faster. “Like that, Dorian?” 

The magic arced through him and Dorian screamed, his spine arching reflexively, muscles spasming as his eyes flew open wide. He came, hard, his vision whiting out as he gasped, unable to breathe, heart stuttering.

Awareness returned slowly, the whiteness receding to be replaced with the feeling of the mattress beneath his shoulders, his cheek, his chest; the rope bound tight around his wrists, his softening cock trapped against the satin, his spend pooled beneath him and the ache, the pain deep inside as Leto used his body to drive himself on towards climax. Dorian’s eyes were open wide in shock as he breathed out a panted moan. His mind was, for once, mercifully empty and quiet.

Leto moaned Dorian’s name as he finally came, and carefully pulled away and rolled to his back. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before he realized how quiet the other man was. “Dorian? Dorian….are you alright?” 

Dorian was silent as the words slowly filtered through the whiteness, the fuzzy feeling inside. “Leto,” he finally managed to breathe. “Th...thank you. That... I never....” He blinked. His cheeks were wet.

“I... haven’t felt like this since....” _Rilienus. Since Rilienus. It had been that long since he had lain with a fellow mage._

Dorian wept. “Thank you...thank you!” he breathed between shuddering sobs. “Leto. Leto!”

“What’s wrong!” was all the elf could ask as he rolled back to hold Dorian. “What did I do? I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

“Don’t be sorry,” gasped Dorian. “I... I never... another mage.... Rilienus... Leto, I... _amatus!_ ”

Leto gathered him in his arms and held him. “It’s ok, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to do this to you, I fucked up. Please don’t cry.” 

“Didn’t... didn’t fuck... up,” Dorian sighed. “Leto... thank you. I had forgotten... _amatus._ ” He was exhausted, but he managed to press a kiss to Leto’s lips. “Thank you, _amatus_ ,” he breathed.

He felt consciousness fleeing as Leto held him, his mind quiet and at peace for the first time in a long, long time.

The elf let him lie back and slipped out of bed so he could clean up and get Dorian healed before he tried to sleep as well. After he got them cleaned up and freed the other man’s wrists, he climbed back in and held the other mage in his arms as he considered what he’d done. It was late into the evening before Leto finally fell into a restless slumber cuddled close to his _amatus_.


	4. Chapter 4

Hal opened his eyes and stared up into the cloudless blue sky.

It was warm; he was bathed in sunshine, comforting and gentle as he lay on his back, arms at his sides, merely breathing - and after all that had happened in the Fade, that seemed miraculous in itself. He could feel the tickle of grass under his hands, rather than the sand of the Western Approach.

He sat up slowly and looked around at the rolling green hills and bright sunshine, then glanced around himself.

A few feet away, Arden lay still upon his back, eyes closed, his robes still sodden and drenched in blood. Hal’s eyes widened and he hastily crawled to the blond mage’s side.

“Arden? Don’t be dead - sweet Maker, please don’t be dead,” Hal murmured to himself as he reached out to Arden and checked for a pulse at the man’s throat.

Arden stirred slightly with a small sigh, then his eyes fluttered open slowly.

“Hello, love,” he said drowsily. “I have had the most vivid yet disturbing dream; we were all in the Fade, and I died in your arms after -”

He broke off suddenly as he stared up into the blue sky and felt the gentle summer breeze upon his face. He sat up and stared around himself. “This... isn’t the Western Approach,” he said slowly. “Where on Thedas are we? This could be almost anywhere in Orlais, Ferelden or the Free Marches.”

“Certainly not Nevarra,” agreed Hal. “We should be able to see mountains from here if we were. And it doesn’t look like the Wounded Coast, so we’re nowhere near Kirkwall.” He turned back to Arden and lifted a hand to touch his hair. “You’re covered in blood,” he said softly. “You look terrible; the first people we come across are going to assume we’ve been attacked by bandits.” He combed his fingers through slowly then halted. “Arden,” he murmured softly. "Your hair. It’s... there’s no white in it. Not a single strand.”

Arden stared up at Hal. “And there’s no scar on your face,” he breathed as he lifted a blood-stained hand towards Hal’s face. “Your eyes... they’re gold.” His fingers hovered above the smooth skin of Hal’s forehead. “Is this how you looked before Tranquility?” he breathed.

Hal’s hand flew to his forehead and he ran his fingers across the unblemished skin, seeking and not finding any traces of the scar from the Bull’s attack or the brand of Tranquility that had marked his forehead for over ten years.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed. “What did they do to us? What does this mean?”

Arden shook his head. “I don’t know,” he confessed, then glanced down; his clothes were ragged, torn and stained with blood - some of it still damp. He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced at the sticky feel; he could feel it drying on his face as well. “You’re right,” he remarked. “I do look a sight.” He paused, then groaned. “And we have nothing - I lost my staff, we don’t have packs or camping gear or food, and -” He broke off and patted his belt until he felt his coin pouch; it felt light, and he knew there couldn’t be much more than two or three sovereigns and a handful of silver in there. “And hardly any coin. You don’t -” He eyed the simple sash cord tied around Hal’s light travel robes; the younger man carried no belt.

“And you have no coin at all,” finished Arden. “Our clothes were suitable for the Western Approach but we’re going to freeze come nightfall.”

“We need to find an inn,” said Hal.

“And pay for it with what?” exclaimed Arden. Hal smiled as he slipped an arm around Arden’s waist and pulled his arm around his shoulders.

“We were attacked by bandits. You’re badly hurt. Surely the landlord will have pity on us?”

**

The door to the inn burst open and the young red-haired man staggered in, half-dragging his barely-conscious blond companion over the threshold. “Please - someone help us!” he cried desperately. “My friend is hurt!”

Arden groaned, lifting his head slightly to stare dazedly round the common room of the inn as a serving girl hastily put down the tray she was carrying and hurried to his side. “Bandits,” Arden managed to get out. “Tried... tried to fight ‘em off... too many....” His head dropped and he slumped as the girl slung his other arm around her shoulders and yelled for the barkeep, who set down the tankard he’d been polishing and hurried over.

“Maker, your friend looks near dead!” he exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Bandits,” panted Hal. “They demanded our coin. My- my friend tried to fight them off and protect me but - but they set upon him and -” He stared pleadingly at the barkeep. “Please, have pity on us; we have no coin and they took everything, even our horses. Please, let us stay the night - a room, any room will do, so I can care for my friend?”

“Of course,” said the barkeep hastily. “We’ve a couple rooms to spare - there’s one downstairs; can your... friend walk that far?”

Arden gave a soft moan but managed to lift his head. “Th-thank you,” he got out, between teeth clenched against the pain.

“No worries, friend,” said the barkeep as he moved to take Arden’s arm from the serving girl. “Alice, go heat water and bring bandages, hurry girl!” As she ran off to do his bidding, the barkeep began to guide them towards a door that led off from the common room. “It’s small, and there’s only one bed but it’s clean with fresh rushes on the bed. Never let it be said that we folk of Crestwood ever turn away a fellow Fereldan in need!”

Arden exchanged a glance with Hal, then lowered his head. Hal nodded to the barkeep as they reached the room.

“Thank you - thank you so much!” he said gratefully. “Just let us stay a day or two - we just need somewhere to rest our heads whilst I treat his wounds and recover a little. I promise we’ll be no trouble!”

“Don’t you worry about that, lad,” said the barkeep as they managed to get Arden into the small room and laid on the bed. Arden’s eyes closed as his head hit the pillow and he fell limp, feigning unconsciousness. The barkeep straightened, and glanced to Hal, staring at the blood soaking the front of his travel robe. “Your friend’s blood is all over you too. I’ll heat water for a tub so you can wash yourself and your friend. I think I may have some spare clothes to fit you both. Just stay here, and Alice will be in directly with bandages and hot water. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Hal sank down onto the edge of the bed and reached for Arden’s limp hand, cradling it gently. “You’ve done more than enough; how can I ever repay you? We - we have no coin but -”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said the barkeep firmly. “Like I said, we folk of Crestwood never turn away someone in need. Now, supper is at sunset; it’s just a plain stew, but I dare say you could do with something hot to eat - and mayhap your....” His eyes went to Hal’s hands holding Arden’s hand so tenderly. “Your... friend... will be able to eat a little something too.”

“Thank you so much,” sighed Hal as he reached out to tenderly brush blood-streaked hair away from Arden’s closed eyes. “Hold on, love,” he whispered.

The barkeep’s eyes softened as he watched him. “You’re both safe now,” he assured Hal gently. “Look, here’s Alice with the water and bandages. Do you need help to care for him?”

Hal glanced up and managed a weak smile. “No, we - we’ll be alright now, I think.”

Alice set the bowl of water down on the small table beside the bed and laid the bandages beside it. “I do hope your friend will be alright, ser,” she said in a worried tone.

“Now, Alice, let them be so the lad can care for his man. Go heat water for the tub, there’s a lass,” said the barkeep firmly. He nodded to Hal. “We’ll leave you to it, lad. Just call if you need anything.”

“I will... and thank you again,” Hal said fervently.

The moment the door closed, Arden opened his eyes and sat up. “Well, that went better than expected,” he said in a low voice. “Well done, love - I think they swallowed our story.”

“If I hadn’t known you were faking it, I would have believed you were badly hurt,” said Hal as he reached out to tug at Arden’s bloodstained clothes. “Come on, let’s get you out of this so you can wash up, and then I’ll bandage you. Let’s see... where were you hurt?”

Arden closed his eyes and thought back. “My chest... abdomen... left shoulder. I couldn’t breathe; I was choking on my own blood.”

“Punctured lungs and broken ribs,” nodded Hal, his face sombre. “Alright; torso and shoulder then; we’ll start there.”

Arden laid a hand on Hal as the redhead reached for the collar of his shirt; Hal paused, and looked up into Arden’s eyes.

“Hal... I’m sorry for what happened back there. I - I knew I was going to die, but I didn’t think it would be before you.”

Hal smiled sadly as he leaned in to kiss his nose. “Arden,” he said softly, “I was already dead. I died in your arms before we ever set foot in the Fade. I was a spirit.”

“You... you were....” Arden’s face paled and he lay back against the pillows, blinking, stunned.

Hal leaned forward and unlaced Arden’s tunic and the shirt underneath, peeling them off gently as Arden lay there. “I was. But now we’re both alive, free to go where we will and start a new life together,” he said gently. He coaxed Arden to sit up then took a cloth, dipped it in the water and began to wipe away the blood, cleaning it out of Arden’s hair and from his skin.

Arden sat passively, watching Hal as the redhead cleaned all the blood from his skin. He glanced down at his chest, and tentatively touched his ribs. “I... I don’t understand,” he said softly. “My scars... the ones from Sebastian, from Alrik, even from my duel with the Arishok - they’ve all gone.”

“I know,” nodded Hal. “Just as mine did.” He lifted golden eyes to meet Arden’s gaze then dropped back to his hands as he began to wind soft white bandages about Arden’s shoulder and torso.

“What does this mean?” breathed Arden. Hal smiled slightly.

“I told you,” he replied. “A fresh start, a new life.” He sat back and nodded, satisfied, as he glanced over the bandages. “There. All your ‘wounds’ are bandaged. Time for you to lie down and play at being injured again,” he added as he began to gather up all the bloodstained clothing and dumping it in a pile near the door before stripping off his own stained clothes.

Arden lay back again, his damp hair tumbling about his face as he sank back into the pillow. He watched Hal as the redhead moved about the room, tidying up the remaining bandages before returning to sit on the bed again.

“Hal,” he said quietly. “We were both dead. How did we end up here?”

Hal stared down at his hands. “I don’t entirely understand it myself,” he confessed. “But Merrill, she -”

“Wait,” said Arden, his eyes widening. “It’s beginning to come back to me. I - I truly was dead. But I remember a voice calling me back... that was Merrill, wasn’t it? Our Merrill. She and Vic’s Merrill - they were spirits, weren’t they?”

Hal nodded. “They sacrificed themselves in our places,” he replied sombrely. “They restored us to life with their own essence, and then sent us back - I just don’t know where to. They said ‘home’ - but does that mean our own Thedas? Or the one we’ve been living in since we all stumbled out of rifts into Invictus’ world?”

Arden shrugged. “To be honest, there was nothing left in the Thedas we were born in to keep me there.”

“And everyone I love is in Invictus’ world,” nodded Hal. “You were here, Fenris - and of course Anders’ daughter Ellowynne. We have friends in Invictus’ world; in our own Thedas, what is there left for us? Fenris is dead; our Anders is no more. Belann has already died in Invictus’ world. Kirkwall hadn’t been our home in a long while.”

“Rebecca was our only real friend, save Varric,” nodded Arden. “And I think that whilst he might have mourned me when I remained behind in the Fade, he and Rebecca would be the only ones. I didn’t know any of the members of the Inquisition well enough to call them friends.”

“Well,” replied Hal slowly as he straightened. “I think that whichever Thedas we’re in, we need to start over. We know we’re in Crestwood now; it should be easy enough to find out who the Inquisitor here is. But we need to find a way to make some coin, then work out where we’re going.”

Arden nodded and sat up slowly. “Love,” he said quietly. “Hal. If - if we’ve returned to Invictus’ Thedas... I know how much Fenris meant to you. Would you want -”

“Hush,” said Hal swiftly as he laid a finger against Arden’s lips. “Right now it’s just us - you and I. No-one else. Let’s just concentrate on getting ourselves back on our feet, and see if we can work out just which Thedas we’re in. We’ll worry about the others later. We -”

He was interrupted by a tap at the door; they exchanged a glance, then Arden closed his eyes and fell back onto the bed, looking very much half-dead once more as Hal rose to his feet and answered the door.

It was Alice, the barmaid, with buckets of hot water for the tub. Hal helped her bring in the buckets of water to fill the tub; he thanked her as she paused to look over at Arden, who hadn’t moved.

“Sweet Andraste, look at the poor man,” she tutted as she sighed. “Is there anything further we can do to help? I don’t think there are any healers in town; there was a party with three mages that arrived a few of days ago but I think they left yesterday. Headed for Skyhold and the mages’ college there, I heard tell.”

“The... the college?” echoed Hal.

“Oh aye,” nodded Alice as she turned to pick up a bundle of clothes from just by the door. “Since they did away with the Circles, Skyhold’s where a lot of them seem to be heading now - particularly healers. If they’d stayed longer, they could have helped with your friend.”

Hal stared at her steadily, trying to gauge how much to confide in her. On the one hand, she was a barmaid, and barmaids were notoriously prone to gossip. But on the other hand, she spoke of these mages as though it were acceptable and normal for mages to be valued as healers instead of feared and branded maleficar. If healers were welcome, it might be a way to earn valuable coin.

“I - I can heal him,” he finally said softly. “He is... merely sleeping now.”

The woman paused in the act of holding out the bundle of clothes to him, and stared up at him, her eyes widening slightly. “You’re... you’re a mage?” she whispered.

Hal nodded, wondering if he’d misjudged and the woman were about to run and denounce him to the nearest templar. But after a moment she merely gave him a wry smile.

“Well, Maker bless you - you should have said so,” she replied. “There’s some that still make a flap about your kind - but on the whole, folks around here are fairly accepting of mages since good King Alistair issued his pardon. Life in Crestwood since the Blight and then that Void-blasted breach in the sky opening up hasn’t been easy; until the Inquisitor and his folk passed through a few years back, we were plagued by demons and undead, and it was his healer folk that fixed up a lot of our people - there’s plenty that would be dead now if not for the Inquisition. Just let me speak to Halstead and likely you’ll find you can earn coin aplenty just by healing folks’ ailments.”

Hal stared down at her and pondered. It felt wrong to take coin for healing; and yet this would be a good way to earn the coin to buy much-needed supplies. He had no idea yet as to where he and Arden were going, but they needed clothes and food, and little other recourse available to them to earn the required coin.

“Alright,” he nodded.

Alice smiled and handed him the bundle of clothes. “Now, there’s clean trews, shirts and a tunic a-piece there - they’re well-worn, but still decent and clean. Come down to the common room when you’re ready, and there’ll be stew and I’ll have a word with Halstead.” She glanced over at Arden, then back to Hal. “Right, I’d best leave you to it!” she nodded, then bustled off, leaving Hal alone with Arden once more.

Arden sat up as Hal closed the door. “Well,” Arden said slowly, “That was something of a surprise. She called them mages and healers - not apostates or maleficar. She’s right, you know - if we can be more open about what we truly are here, then our magic will offer us the best chance of earning honest coin.”

Hal nodded as he laid out the clean clothing. “The tub is small - do you want to wash first, or shall I?”

Arden gestured to it. “You take it, love,” he replied with a smile. “I think you need it more than I.”

Hal began to slowly undress. “Arden,” he said quietly. “What are we going to do? Will we stay here in Crestwood, if there’s work for us? Or shall we move on?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Arden. “I figured we’d stay a few days to earn some coin and buy supplies then... Denerim, maybe? It’s a big city, we should be able to get news there and find out where, exactly, we are.”

“We can’t exactly say ‘So, who’s the Inquisitor then?’ after all, can we?” agreed Hal as he stepped into the tub. He sank down into the water with a low groan. “Maker, but this feels good,” he sighed.

“Want me to wash your hair for you, love?” asked Arden; Hal gave him a small smile.

“Please,” he nodded.

As Arden took his place kneeling behind Hal, the redhead tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “We have our lives back and a world to explore,” Hal mused as Arden sluiced water through his hair then set to work with the bar of soap. “We don’t need to go near Skyhold to find out if the Inquisitor is Lavellan or Trevelyan. A few questions in Denerim should tell us that. And then... we could go anywhere. We could just travel.... We’ve never done that, have we?”

“Never had the opportunity,” shrugged Arden as he lathered up the soap and began washing Hal’s hair. “There was always so much to do in Kirkwall - and then afterwards, there was that whole business with the breach, then Adamant, the Fade... you with the Inquisition, me in Sebastian’s dungeon for a whole year....” He sighed. “Even our time with Mythal - I was Grand Enchanter, and when we were travelling with Mythal we were hunting Solas. Always doing something for others. Maybe... maybe it’s time we hit the road, see where it takes us.”

“And learn who we truly are now the world isn’t falling apart around our ears,” shrugged Hal as Arden sluiced clean water through his hair. “After everything that happened to you in Nevarra -”

Arden slipped his arms around Hal and held him gently as he pressed his face into his wet hair. “Hush,” he said softly. “I don’t want to think about what they did to me. It’s in the past and behind us now. That whole situation...Maker, that’s not a healthy dynamic between those four. Fenris is every bit as wrong in the head as I was; I don’t know what happened to him in Invictus’ world that he and our Fenris could turn out so different, and that was even before Mythal changed him. Zevran....” His voice trailed off and Hal lifted a hand to touch Arden’s arm in mute comfort.

“What I did... only worsened what Invictus had done to him first, I think,” Arden went on slowly. “But I saw how being crippled like that steadily worked at his mind. I think he’s always going to fight to prove himself.” He was silent for a moment then went on. “I think he and Anders are better for each other than he and Fenris are. Something about them both... they love each other, I’m sure, but since his pain worsened, something in Zevran and something in Fenris just seemed to... rub up against each other in the worst possible way - with Invictus and Anders desperately trying to smooth over the cracks and keep them all together.”

“And where did you see my role in all of this, Arden?” asked Hal softly. “I loved Fenris.”

“I know you did, love,” sighed Arden. “And I know you never meant to hurt any of them. But I think you only were hurt worse yourself in turn. Maker knows, I didn’t help any of that either. I just... I just wish you had told me sooner, love. I can’t fault you for having looked for comfort with him; after all, as far as you were aware, I was dead. And I wouldn’t have said no if you’d actually asked me - as I told you in Skyhold, I just wish you had told me before - before Sebastian and then Zevran and....”

His voice trailed off as Hal turned in his arms - a little awkwardly, in the cramped confines of the tub - and flung his wet arms around Arden. “Hush,” breathed the redhead. “We’ve spoken of this before. What use is there in going over it again? I am more sorry than I can ever tell you that I didn’t tell you sooner; what happened to Zevran is as much my fault as yours.” As Arden made to speak, Hal laid a finger against his lips. “No - Arden. It is. As was what happened to you after. I can’t change the past - I tried, but there’s only so much that magic can do.” He smiled ruefully. “I love you. I loved Fenris. And I know Fenris loves them.” His smile turned wistful and sad. “That - that has to account for something, doesn’t it?”

Arden regarded him sadly. “I can only hope so, love. But forgive me for being thankful we are well out of it?”

“I told you,” said Hal a little more firmly. “We have a fresh start. Whether we’re in our world or theirs, it doesn’t matter; we must be at least several hundred miles away from them if we’re in their world, and they must think us dead. Why dwell on the past?”

“You’re right,” said Arden softly. His eyes were distant for a moment before they focused on Hal again, and suddenly he smiled and patted Hal on the shoulder. “Come on, that water must be getting cold.” He rose and reached for a towel as Hal stood and stepped out of the tub.

“So... how recovered should I be when we go out into the common room for food?” murmured Arden as he towelled Hal off then pressed himself against Hal. The redhead smiled and turned in Arden’s arms to stare up into his eyes.

“That depends,” he murmured. “Are you recovered enough for this?” He pressed a kiss to Arden’s lips as he slid a knee between Arden’s thighs.

“Maker... I might be,” breathed the blond mage, his voice growing husky as his eyes darkened. “What do you have in mind?”

“I think you should lie down and find out,” breathed Hal as he reached one hand down to cup Arden’s groin.

Arden groaned then let himself fall back onto the bed, Hal atop him. Then Hal’s lips were upon his, swallowing up his next moan.

“Let me take care of you, Arden,” whispered Hal.

“I am yours,” replied Arden.

Supper would have to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start to the morning does not go the way Fenris expected; and he learns far more than he wanted of what really happens between Leto and Zevran in this other Thedas.
> 
> Tags updated. Additional content warnings for abuse, abusive relationships, domestic violence, sexual violence and dubcon.

Fenris opened his eyes to find Dorian was still curled up next to him deeply asleep. Thankful the other man was a hard sleeper, he slipped out of bed to sit on one of the window ledges and think about his options. He felt bad about hurting the other man when he missed his Leto so much, and he didn’t know what to think about this world’s version of Zevran. He seemed off-kilter - as though there were two men living in the skin of one man. He found himself wondering more and more just what the relationship was between the Spymaster and his counterpart.

Alone in the bed, Dorian stirred slightly and gave a soft groan. The magister was slowly drifting half awake; with returning consciousness came a growing awareness of a deep ache inside. He felt sore and bruised. He stretched slowly with a small grunt as his muscles protested. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, blinking up at the underside of the bed canopy, and smiled at the hollow ache inside. 

He glanced around and his eyes fell on Fenris, his smile widening. “Up already, _amatus_?” he purred. “I ache inside... that feels so good. I do hope you’ve left me with bruises - at least for now.” He gave him a wicked grin and winked.

Fenris looked away and grimaced before he could catch himself. “I’m...glad I could give you what you needed last night, _amatus_ ,” he said softly. 

Dorian rested his head upon his arms as he rolled to his stomach, and gave Fenris a little hopeful smile. “Oh, you did that... and I would not be at all averse to a repeat performance,” he replied. “Or at the very least the opportunity to taste that magnificent cock of yours again.”

“Thanks but I’m not really in a dominant mood this morning, I feel bad enough about how I hurt you,” Fenris said before resting his face against his knees and staring out the window.

Dorian blinked. “You... feel bad? _Amatus_ , whatever for? I told you - I _like_ this ache. It reminds me of what a good time we had last night. _Venhedis_ \- you _know_ I enjoy taking everything you can dish out! Look... if you don’t feel up to being quite that energetic then I quite understand. But do please come back over here so I can taste your cock again?” He gave a slow, indulgent grin. “I do so enjoy being on my knees in front of you....” 

“I’d actually like it...if you… if you were to take charge this morning,” Fenris said as he approached and slipped into bed next to the mage, concerned he had forgotten that he wasn’t his Leto.

Dorian blinked and the smile slowly slipped from his face, a slightly uncertain look in his eyes. “You... you want me to....”

He sat up slowly and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “I... I think I would need some healing before -”

He broke off, his eyes widening slightly; and then he pressed his hand over his mouth as he turned away, blinking rapidly. For a moment he appeared to cease breathing; then he inhaled raggedly as he lowered his hand and swallowed thickly. “Damn me,” he whispered. “I forgot.”

He got up slowly from the bed and made his way over to the potions box on his desk; he was limping, and bruises stood out against his tawny skin. He leaned on the desk, head lowered, not moving for several minutes.

“Dorian?” asked Fenris, his worry growing. Dorian held up a hand and shook his head.

“Just... just give me a moment here,” he muttered, his voice sounding thick and nasally. He inhaled sharply again, the sound ragged and rough, before he straightened and reached for a couple of potions and a pot of salve. He downed the potions one after the other then made his way slowly back towards the bed, the pot of salve in one hand. 

He sprawled upon the bed, dropping the pot of salve onto the mattress between them as he buried his face in his arms and groaned.

“Forgive me,” he finally said, his voice slightly muffled. “I forgot for the moment that you are not my Leto. I’m sorry.” He shifted slightly, spreading his legs a little. “Leto... Leto often leaves a few bruises unhealed and the soreness inside. He... he knows I enjoy it. And often he takes me again in the morning; I... I have come to look forward to it. And, well... in my half-awake state I’m afraid I forgot that - that you are not Leto.”

Fenris felt anguish tear at him as he watched Dorian. “I’m so sorry, forgive me. I don’t think I make a very good Leto if I can’t give you what you needed and not feel like shit the next day. You screamed...in the moment I loved it, but thinking on it; I worry I hurt you worse than a potion can fix. I’m sorry,” he gasped before turning away to cry.

“ _Ama-_ ” Dorian broke off and bit his lip, then turned his head to stare at Fenris. “Fenris. I enjoyed screaming. I enjoy that _you_ made me scream. And I enjoyed waking up and aching inside. The way I feel right now most certainly is not ‘shit’ - or it wasn’t.The potions will deal with most of the issue, and the salve will deal with much of the rest. And frankly, everyone will expect me to be wrecked, to a certain extent, anyway.” He gave Fenris a lopsided smile. “Vengeance would certainly notice if I were not as exhausted and aching today as I would normally be when Leto and I return. And he will definitely take a most unwelcome interest if I don’t scream nightly. So. I suppose I could _pretend_ \- but frankly, it would be far more fun if you were the one making me scream, hmm?” 

The smile faded as he held out the salve towards Fenris. “If this has all upset you too much however, then I will understand if you would prefer not to touch me. I’ll... drop hints about you gagging me or something.” He shrugged. “And if it would help allay a little of your guilt... well, it’s rather awkward to apply this stuff myself. Would you... help me out?”

“I will do what must to keep this up. Just forgive me if I wake up in a fit of self loathing some mornings. It hit a bit too close to things my Zevran said about my...darker side.” Fenris joined him and started to apply the salve, remembering being in the same need after his first session with Bull. 

He fell silent thinking about the few times he’d spent with the kossith before Bull was exiled; and despite not being in the mood to start, he found the memories were certainly stirring _something_ up as he worked.

Dorian had buried his face in his arms again; he gasped softly at the touch of the salve inside him, then groaned as Fenris gently rubbed it into the bruised and inflamed tissues. Without thinking, he arched up into Fenris’ touch, pressing the elf’s fingers deeper inside.

“S-sorry,” he managed. “Rather... sensitive now.” He turned his head to gaze at Fenris, his face a little flushed. “You’ve... done this before then? I can tell....”

“I’ve had it done for me after a session with Bull to get out of my head. It was after Mythal’s changes and my sex drive was out of control, including needing to be taken in hand by someone. He obliged and I was sore the next day.” Fenris continued to apply the salve, hopeful his cock would stop rubbing against the other man since he didn’t want to take care of himself with salve all over his fingers. 

“I was as needy as you were but it helped me settle my mind. The next time he indulged me, it was to give me pain and to let me just give up control. Fuck...that was a good night,” he whispered.

“I understand that desire,” said Dorian softly. “That was... in part... what brought Leto and I together. He is... good for me in that respect, and others. When he is rough with me, it quietens my mind. And the longer I have been with the Inquisition and.... well. Close proximity to vengeance does not do wonders for one’s mental composure and -” He broke off and sank his teeth into his lip with a low moan as Fenris’ fingers brushed across his sensitive spot. “ _Venhedis_ , but that feels so good,” he breathed. 

“Does it?” Fenris twisted his fingers slightly as he added a third and watched Dorian squirm. “Perhaps we can compromise? Tie me down and use my body, we both get what we want and I am forced to control myself as you do whatever you want to me.”

Dorian closed his eyes and shuddered, unable to help himself as he rocked back up into Fenris’ touch. “Ah - ah - _vishante kaffas_!” he cursed. “Fenris... I swear I will make a mess of myself here soon....” He buried his face against the coverlet as he forced himself to breathe slow and steadily, forcing down his arousal through an act of will. He lifted his head and took another slow, steady breath. “That... might work,” he said, his voice a little too calm. “Otherwise I fear I might be reduced to begging. Leto assures me I beg beautifully but I fear that would not help your composure any....” He swallowed hard as Fenris’ fingers eased into his body again. “Rope... yes, I-I can do rope,” he managed as a shudder rolled through him. 

Fenris pulled his fingers free and slid the oil in front of Dorians face. “You do beg beautifully, just hold out a bit for me. Wait until I’m at your mercy, helpless and eager.” The elf’s eyes were darkened and he was staring at the other man like he could eat him alive. “Besides I think you’ll like hearing me beg for once.”

Dorian pushed himself slowly up to his hands and knees, head hanging between his arms as he drew another slow, steady breath. “I just need a moment here,” he muttered. Fenris could see the magister’s cock was swollen and heavy, dripping, and it was clear just how far gone Dorian already was as he shuddered, eyes closed as he fought to bring his body back under control. “Damn me, but you make it rather hard for me to control myself,” he breathed.

He managed to rise from the bed and limped over to the dresser; bracing his hands against it, he stared into his own reflection; from his vantage point, Fenris could see a look of determination on the magister’s face as Dorian reasserted control over his own body through sheer will.

“Right,” Dorian said softly as he straightened. “Rope, is it? Then rope it shall be.” 

He bent down and pulled out the bottom-most drawer of the dresser and pulled out several lengths of crimson rope; he straightened and walked back over towards the bed. “Leto always said red was my colour,” he mused quietly. “Is it yours, I wonder?”

“Yes, or a dark blue is something my Dorian likes to put me in when I can talk him into playing like this with me.”

Dorian limped back towards the bed, eyeing the elf with a speculative look. “I do hope you will be at least a little co-operative,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid that I haven’t the strength to physically manhandle you the way you could me, and if I have to wrestle you then I will most certainly lose. I could use magic - and Leto has, indeed, restrained me with Force magic on more than one occasion. However, I know that Leto does not like to be on the receiving end of it - he mislikes it intensely and you, I think would likely be the same.” He came to a halt beside the bed and stared down at Fenris. “So, if you would be so kind as to move into the centre of the bed and allow me to bind you, I would be most grateful.”

“As messere wishes.” Fenris did as he was told and held his hands up, wrists together. “You can use magic, I let my Dorian use it after we talked. Besides, I’m going to be so good when you finally tie me up _amatus_.”

“It would feel rather wrong to use magic on you - I wouldn’t dream of using it on Leto and I would be afraid of forgetting myself once I have _my_ Leto back and using it upon him without thinking. Forgive me, but I dare not,” said Dorian quietly as he bound Fenris’ wrists firmly yet not too tightly, checking that the rope was not too tight with a finger inserted between the coils and Fenris’ skin. Then he tied the rope to the bedstead so that Fenris’ arms were stretched over his head. “I have no doubt you could break these ropes if you chose - Leto certainly could and indeed has, on one occasion. A... slight mishap of mine, you might say.” His eyes slid away from Fenris for a moment.

“It’s ok, I’ll tell you if anything doesn’t feel good.” The elf flexed his wrists and smiled. “You’ve done this before...thank you for agreeing. If I get too far into it, forgive me. I haven’t had a chance to indulge in a while. I’m at your mercy, serah.” Fenris let his head drop back to the pillows and watched the other man intently.

“I’ve been tied up myself often enough to have a reasonable idea of how to do it to someone else,” Dorian replied. He moved towards the foot of the bed and reached for Fenris’ left ankle. He bound it firmly yet not too tightly, as before, then tied the other end of the rope to the bedpost, tugging on it until Fenris’ body was stretched out. Then he moved to the other ankle. “Do you have a safe word, Fenris?” he asked softly as he began to wrap rope around the elf’s right ankle.

“I like ‘seheron’ but Vic tells me it’s too long, so what about ‘Templar’?” Fenris tugged at the rope around his ankles and grinned. “I think this is going to be fun.”

“I do hope so,” said Dorian a little absently as he checked all of the knots carefully. He set a small, sharp knife out on the bedside table. “For the ropes, in case I should need to free you in a hurry,” he murmured.

“Damn, thought you might want to use it...for other purposes,” Fenris mumbled as he watched Dorian move around the room. He fought the urge to snap the ropes and fuck Dorian into the mattress. After all, he’d asked for the rope, but he was getting impatient. 

Instead he watched Dorian’s every movement like a cat trying to catch a mouse.

Dorian stilled. “No,” he said, his eyes dark and an odd note to his voice. “Leto and I do not... play... like that.” The colour had gone from his voice, and he glanced away as he slowly wrapped his arms around himself, as though chilled. After a moment, his eyes were drawn back to Fenris. “Do you... play with knives with - with your version of me?” he asked, a haunted look in his eyes.

“No, I have with my Zevran though. We don’t have to, it’s ok!” Fenris almost yelled but caught himself.

“Oh,” said Dorian. “I... I see.” He turned away and reached for a bottle of wine; hastily he poured himself a glass, the neck of the bottle rattling against the rim of the glass betraying how the magister’s hands shook. He downed the wine swiftly, his back to Fenris, then set the glass down and turned back. “Forgive me,” he smiled faintly. “I have... bad associations with knives and being tied down. A little hang-up of mine. Now, where were we?”

“If you need to stop it’s ok,” Fenris assured him as he glanced at the wine in Dorian’s hand.

Dorian poured himself a second glass then returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know how it was for your Dorian, but... not long before I left Tevinter and came south, my... father attempted to perform a ritual upon me. Blood magic. I woke to find myself tied down as he stood over me with a knife in his hand and - well.” he swallowed down half the glass of wine then lowered the glass, his eyes distant. “And regardless of what the rabble may say of me, I am no maleficar. I do not practice blood magic. But can you imagine if anyone were to see me with Leto tied down and I about to draw his blood? I should find myself strung up by the neck in very short order - and not in any fun sense either, I might add. So, there you have it - I will not draw another’s blood, and I am extremely averse to having people wave sharp objects at me in bed. I enjoy being bitten, and I enjoy Leto’s claws in my flesh - but we leave knives out of our bedroom games. And the thought of having Zevran anywhere near me with a bare knife - in bed or out of it....” He gave an almost melodramatic shudder and downed the rest of the glass.

Fenris’ gaze softened as he watched Dorian compose himself. “If you’re uncomfortable we can stop the game, I don’t want to hurt you again; in any sense. My own Dorian had the same experience with his father...I’m sorry I reminded you of that.” 

The elf forced himself to relax and not try to snap the ropes. He wanted to comfort the other man but thanks to his insistence on playtime, he was a bit stuck. 

“I’m sorry I messed this up, my mouth always gets me in trouble,” Fenris quipped.

“And it all started so well,” Dorian replied softly, his tone wistful as he stared down into his empty glass. “I’m sorry too, _amatus_ ; sorry that I have managed to turn what should have been an enjoyable romp into a maudlin affair. Sorry that I was unable to scratch your obvious itch without making it all about my own needs... and sorry that you have found yourself in the wrong world, with the wrong Dorian and the wrong Zevran.” He glanced to the rope binding Fenris’ wrists together. “Would you prefer if I untie you?” he added quietly, his voice subdued.

“Only if you want me to hold you for a bit. I think we both could use some comfort right now. Or if you still want me, happy to scratch your itch?” Fenris offered.

Dorian stared into the wine glass for a moment longer, then carefully set it down on the bedside table, next to the small knife. “Do... do you think we could... perhaps simply make love?” he asked, in an uncertain tone that suggested he expected the answer to be no. “I - I quite understand if after this, you don’t... want me. In that way.” He kept his eyes on his hands where they washed mindlessly against each other, restless.

“I still want you, sorry I’m a poor substitute for the one you love. I’ll be good for you...for us,” Fenris said softly as he waited to be freed.

Dorian glanced up; there was a look of faint surprise on his face for a moment, and then gratitude before Dorian dropped his gaze again as he rose and moved to the foot of the bed to undo the knots. He unpicked them steadily then unwound the rope, running his hands around Fenris’ ankle gently to rub it before he moved to the other ankle and likewise freed that one. Then he moved to the top of the bed and untied the rope from the bedstead before sitting down next to Fenris to untie the elf’s wrists. The knot had somehow tightened; Dorian bent over it as he steadily picked at the knot with his manicured nails. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “ _Venhedis_ \- oh, _do_ come on - bloody thing -”

“I can just snap it,” Fenris offered, guessing it wasn’t the only rope they had.

Dorian glanced up and blinked. “I... yes, I suppose you can, can’t you?” he replied. “You’re far stronger than I.” He seemed a little disconcerted but a second later was masking it with a coy look at Fenris from beneath lowered lashes. “Far be it for me to deprive myself of a demonstration of your strength, _amatus_ ,” he smirked.

The elf grinned at him before yanking a couple of times against the rope, pleased he didn’t break the bed by pulling hard as he needed. He busied himself with the last knot before turning to Dorian. “Better?”

“Indeed,” Dorian smiled. “And I think you must be mistaken - red suits me far better than you, _amatus_.” His grey eyes still held a little wistfulness that belied his tone of voice and flirting, however.

“Come here please, I need you _amatus_. I need you to be gentle with me,” Fenris pleaded as he looked to the other man for something less vigorous than he’d initially hoped for.

Dorian crawled back onto the bed then lay down upon his back and turned his head upon the pillow to regard Fenris for a moment. “Which would you prefer?” he asked, all pretense gone. “Your cock in me, or to ride upon mine? I...I think I would prefer to remain upon my back, if... if you don’t mind?” His grey eyes searched those of Fenris. “We can do this as gently as you like. No rope, nothing rough.” He smiled gently. “I don’t think I’ve had it gentle in months,” he confessed.

“Whatever you need Dorian, as soft and gentle as you like,” Fenris said as he rolled to touch the other man gently, almost reverently. “Allow me to take care of you?”

“Please,”Dorian whispered. “I... I want your cock in me. I feel... empty, hollow inside. I know it can’t take that feeling away but it would be... comforting to me.”

“Ok, but can I take some time to give it to you? I want to kiss you, make love as you asked. Please?” Fenris pleased gently as he leaned in to kiss Dorian on the forehead, then his nose and each cheek.

A small, wondering, breathless little “ohhh” escaped Dorian’s lips; as Fenris pulled away a little to stare down at him, he nodded. “Yes, I think I would like that,” he confessed. “I haven’t been treated that way in many years.” He smiled. “I am yours,” he breathed. “Whatever you wish to do to me, I... I welcome it.” He gazed up at Fenris, and there was something vulnerable in his grey eyes now, as though he were finally laying himself open to the elf.

“Whatever _you_ want today amatus, not just what I want. What do you need besides my cock?” Fenris asked as he continued his way down the mage’s body, kissing spots he knew his Dorian liked being kissed or bitten on.

“Oh... oh, that’s nice,” Dorian whispered.”Yes, you may keep doing that, _amatus_....” As Fenris kissed lower, he noticed that Dorian’s cock was decidedly waking up and taking an interest in things. “Your hands on my body, perhaps?” He lifted his head to watch as Fenris’ kisses drew closer to his groin, and Fenris had the satisfaction of hearing the mage’s breath hitch. “Your fingers...?” he added in a breathless whisper. “Please?”

“Of course...pass me the oil and relax.” Fenris took the bottle and smiled shyly as he coated his hands, then went to work massaging his bed mate from his feet upward. The warrior was attentive to each hitch and gasp that came from Dorian as he worked. “Tell me if you want me to do this for your back and neck.”

By the time he reached Dorian’s shoulders, the Tevinter mage was relaxed, limp and pliant beneath his hands and smiling dreamily at him. “Oh... Dumat, yes _please_ ,” he moaned. “ _Amatus_... your gentleness is breaking me in the most wonderful way.”

“Turn over when you’re ready love.” Fenris gave him another gentle smile as he watched him turn to his stomach and stretch out. 

The elf simply straddled Dorian and got to work from his neck down. “I learned how to do this in a way that feels really good from Zevran and Anders. I hope I’m pleasing you, _amatus_.”

His answer was a heartfelt, appreciative groan. Then Dorian’s back gave an alarming crack as Fenris pressed down either side of his spine, just below his shoulderblades, and Dorian cried out loudly, his voice tailing off into a hedonistic moan. “Oh, _fuck_ , Leto!” he groaned. “Please... please, do that again! Dumat, that felt so good....”

“As you wish, ser,” Fenris said as he worked on the other man’s back, putting more pressure as he found more spots to work through. He slipped down to massage Dorian’s feet and legs working his way back up to the mage’s ass. Instead of kneading that rather nice ass, he spread his lovers legs and teased his hole for a bit. “May I please use my fingers, or would you rather turn over for my cock?” Fenris slipped one finger inside to slowly stroke as he awaited an answer. 

“Oh... oh... you can do whatever you like to me,” moaned Dorian. “Your fingers or your cock, however you want me.” He groaned softly as Fenris pushed his finger deeper, and Dorian inhaled sharply. “Dumat - yes, more!” he moaned, louder. “Please... please, Leto, fuck me!” He was pushing back into Fenris’ hand, his breath coming faster.

Fenris turned Dorian over and oiled them both up gently, before taking his time to enter his lover. He’d been asked for lovemaking and that’s what the mage was getting. Instead of just fucking him senseless, the elf took his time, stroking slow and deep. He leaned in to kiss Dorian softly, eager to make him feel good and wanted versus shagging him until he broke. “ _Amatus_....Dorian,” he panted, close already but not wanting it to end.

Dorian was falling apart beneath him, writhing mindlessly as he panted, coming closer himself with little gasped cries at each thrust, his cock trapped between their bodies and weeping. “Leto... please, faster!” he cried, pleading as he gazed up at Fenris, his eyes dark. 

“As you wish love.” Fenris complied, even taking Dorian’s hands in his, holding them rather than pinning the mage down. “Let go, let go for me...for yourself,” he urged.

As Dorian’s hands suddenly clenched tight to Fenris’ fingers, he threw his head back and screamed, “ _LETO!!_ ” as his body shuddered and Fenris felt a hot, wet warmth against his stomach as the magister clamped down on him inside. His voice tailed away into a long, low moan as his fingers slowly relaxed in Fenris’ grasp and he grew limp once more, utterly ennervated and with a dazed look upon his face.

Fenris wasn’t as loud as he finally came but he did call out for Dorian in a way that would have broken the other man’s heart if he wasn’t worn out from their lovemaking. Instead of pulling away, the elf nuzzled against the other man’s neck and cried. He’d never been that gentle with his Dorian, well not in a long time; nor with Vic. It was too much on top of being in the wrong place with people who were all wrong, and having to pretend to be Leto. 

Dorian had passed swiftly into sleep, utterly wrecked by Fenris’ gentle care so soon after his emotional upset. Fenris lay there holding him, merely listening to Dorian breathing as he slept in Fenris’ arms. 

There was a slight sound from overhead; a faint scuffle - and then something dropped down from the rafters directly behind him. As Fenris’ head whipped around and he sat up, Zevran stared at him with an unreadable expression, golden eyes shimmering. He threw a handful of something onto the coverlet of the bed that chimed and jangled.

“I think these are yours,” said the assassin very softly. Then he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Fenris, his head bowed a little. As Fenris glanced down, he realised that the objects were his wedding rings.

The warrior glared at the blond elf, furious at him intruding on their morning. “Do you always just skulk around like this? Hoping to scare Dorian again, start your day with a bit of fun?” Fenris snarled as he watched Zevran carefully.

“Scare him?” said Zevran, still in that soft voice. His head tilted to one side, in a very crow-like manner, and then turned his head enough that Fenris could see the sinuous black tattoo that wound down the side of his face and one golden eye. “No. He is sleeping, or I would not have shown myself. I will not hurt him for having something I could never have.”

He glanced away again. “Do you wish to hurt me, Fenris?”

“Right now? Yes,” the elf admitted as he continued to glare at Zevran. He felt hot, he knew he had to look fairly run down after another crying jag and he was a bit of a wreck. He wanted to hurt the other elf for intruding, and he felt that irrational hatred that his own husband had warned him about taking over.

“Just so,” nodded Zevran. “Were you Leto, I do not think we would even have gotten as far as words. He would have pinned me to the wall with his magic, and then I would have felt his claws, his teeth.” He bowed his head and stared at the ground with a small sigh. “You, however, are not Leto. I need not fear that you would drag me away to the rookery, eh?” He chuckled softly, then glanced up briefly at the windows.

Fenris growled at him as he stared at the elf. He just felt his anger making him feel flushed, hot until suddenly he felt and smelled fire. “No...no, no, no. No.” The elf stared at the flame dancing in his palm with shock. “Of course it’s fire, of course. Because I can’t control my temper.” He started laughing as he watched it, curious how it didn’t hurt but still smelled like natural fire.

Zevran glanced over his shoulder and stared, eyes transfixed upon the fire. “And perhaps I was wrong,” he breathed, startled. His eyes went back to Fenris. “Perhaps you and Leto are not so different after all,” he whispered; a faintly apprehensive tone had crept into his voice.

Dorian stirred. “Leto?” he murmured, eyes still closed. “A bit warm to light the fire isn’t it?” His voice was slurred, sleepy.

Fenris didn’t answer, he just kept laughing. He watched as the flame as it continued to wave rather cheerfully from his palm. He glanced at Zevran, his eyes darkened in anger. “You could have left us alone, you did this.” 

“I could, yes,” nodded Zevran as he rose to his feet and turned to face Fenris, the flames lighting up his face in a warm glow. “But I did not cause this. The fire? It was in you all along.” He grinned suddenly, all white teeth and no humour. “That was what attracted me to Leto, you know. That fire inside. You have merely found a new way to express it, hmm?” He began to chuckle softly. “Now, how could little old Zevran have done that, Fenris? I have no magic. It’s all yours.” 

He walked slowly backwards as he lifted his arms and held them out wide. “You are angry, eh? Then here I am. Here I am! Zevran Arainai awaits you!” He threw his head back and laughed - the same high, insane laughter Fenris remembered from the previous evening.

Fenris smiled at him and let the fire grow a bit. “I’m no fool to attack you head on, but I will give you something to regret and heal from if you don’t leave us alone.” He knew he had zero training in using magic but he did have anger and lyrium to fuel his abilities. The elf knew he might not throw the fire but he was reluctant to leave Dorian’s side, as vulnerable as they were.

Zevran lowered his head and arms as he gave Fenris a knowing look. He slowly stalked back towards the bed.

“Oh, I think not,” he murmured softly. “You are untrained, unlike Leto. If you throw fire at me then perhaps you will hit me... but it is far more likely that you will only set this fine room on fire and then we may all burn to death together.” He placed a knee upon the edge of the bed and lowered himself to his hands as he began to crawl slowly towards Fenris. “You dare not use this magic, hmm?” 

“Oh I dare, I damned well dare. Untrained and angry as I am, I very much dare.” Fenris smiled as he felt the flame shift with his mood to ice. Instead of a warm flame, a glittering shard now lay in his palm. He put his unnatural speed to use to snatch the other elf by the neck of his tunic and placed the tip of the shard at his throat. “What was that about me not using this magic, Arainai?” he asked softly.

Zevran’s eyes had widened as he felt himself yanked forward faster than he could blink; shocked, he stared into Fenris’ eyes as he slowly lifted his hands in mute surrender. “You appear to have me at a disadvantage,” he breathed.

“I am not Leto, but don’t doubt I will hurt you in ways you certainly don’t like if you continue to push me Arainai. You seek pain from me? Mind that you don’t earn it - though not in whatever ways you two play together. Get out of this room and don’t let me catch you like this again or I will not let you walk out by your own power.” 

Zevran’s eyes flicked down to the shard of ice pressed against his throat, then up to Fenris. “And yet, this feels somehow familiar,” he murmured. He smiled faintly. “Tell me... have you threatened the Zevran in your world like this?” His voice dropped. “Did he like it?”

That made Fenris push the shard until he drew blood; his voice dropped lower and he stared into Zevran’s eyes as he did it. “You do not know me Arainai; never, ever mention my Zevran again. Never,” he snarled as he watched the elf’s eyes for a hint of fear, anything that would make him want to keep going.

Zevran’s eyes widened in shock and he gave a choking gasp. “You... you cut me,” he managed to get out. He shivered. A rivulet of blood ran slowly down his neck then trickled across his collarbone before slowly soaking into the Antivan’s shirt.

“Master of observation; no wonder you’re the Spymaster. Do you understand me, Arainai? Will you leave me alone?” Fenris asked as he watched the elf with a satisfaction that might normally worry him.

Zevran lifted a hand to touch the blood running down his neck then, without taking his eyes off Fenris, he brought his fingers to his lips and licked them. “Mmm. You know how to turn a man on, _carissimi_ ,” he grinned. “You, I like!”

That just made Fenris snarl and push the ice further into the Antivan’s neck, barely missing the artery. “I’m not _your_ carissimi.” 

Zevran shuddered and clutched at his throat. His eyes were now wide in pain as well as shock, and the colour had drained from his face. “S-stop...please....” he choked.

Fenris felt Dorian stir, and then a shocked inhalation before the magister clutched at him. “Leto - Leto, no, you’re killing him!”

It took a few moments for the elf to feel what Dorian was doing or to hear him. He pulled his hand back and tossed the bloody ice away from him before dropping his face into his hands and shuddering. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have the words even if he could have spoken.

Zevran clutched his throat as he fell back upon the bed with a pained gasp.

“Zevran?” exclaimed Dorian as he hastily scrambled out of bed and hurried around the bed to stare down at the blond elf. “Zevran!” He stared down at the Spymaster in horror. “Dumat - what have you done, Leto?”

“Become the monster everyone said I am,” the elf said as he remained where he was, unable to look at what he’d done in a fit of rage. “Guess I’ll fit in here, I can’t control myself no matter where I am.” He started to giggle but it was horribly wrong.

Dorian leaned over the stricken elf; Zevran had lifted one bloodied hand to stare at it in shocked disbelief, his hand trembling. “H-help... help me....”

“ _Venhedis_ \- Leto, Leto - the table, healing potions, the - the healing kit! He’ll bleed out!” cried Dorian as he grabbed the nearest cloth - his silken robe. Wadding it up, he pressed it to the gash in Zevran’s throat as the blond elf shuddered, and then his hand fell limply to the bed.

Lifting his head, Fenris stared at the elf and all he could see was his own Zevran, lying far too still upon the table in Anders’ room as the mage worked to save his life.

“Leto - _now_ , man, before he dies!” cried Dorian, the silk in his hands darkening with blood.

Fenris jumped up to comply, moving out of habit as he passed Dorian healing potions and got out a kit similar to his own. He tried to gather his wits as he wadded up bandages and pressed them to the elf’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he finally got out as he watched the cloth darken. “Damn me, don’t die you fucker,” he said as he got more bandages. “Get that potion in him.”

Dorian was trying to coax the potion into Zevran; as he lifted him slightly, the Antivan’s head lolled back, his eyes closed, giving Fenris a clear view of the ragged gash in his throat. Dorian made a small, frantic sound as he stared at the blood, then trickled a little of the potion between Zevran’s slack lips. “Come on, Zevran, don’t do this! Dumat, Vengeance will kill me if he dies in my rooms!”

“Vengeance will kill all of us,” Fenris said as he gathered a poultice and pressed it against the elf’s wound. “Why couldn’t I learn to fucking heal with this damned magic making itself known?” he cursed. “Come on, you son of a bitch, wake up. I’ve seen my Zev take more pain and walk it off!” He swore as he continued to put pressure on the wound.

Zevran groaned faintly, his eyelids fluttering slightly. Dorian carefully trickled a little more of the healing potion into his mouth; the Antivan coughed, then swallowed. “ _Vishante kaffas_ , thank you,” breathed Dorian. “Come on... a little more....” Slowly he managed to coax the potion into the Antivan, as the bleeding slowed and then finally stopped. Zevran opened his eyes dazedly and stared up at Dorian without really seeing him.

Fenris breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the other elf open his eyes. He busied himself with a new bandage and setting up stitches. It wasn’t an ideal spot for it, but he was worried about the cut healing normally. “Hold his head back so I can stitch him up. I doubt he’ll want me touching him once he’s back to himself,” he said quietly and began to work. 

Zevran closed his eyes, making no sound as the needle pierced his flesh though occasionally he shivered slightly. As Fenris continued stitching him, his eyes opened and he gazed at the white-haired elf, his gaze a little unfocused.

“I don’t know what was going on whilst I slept, and I don’t think I want to know,” murmured Dorian. “Zevran... what were you even doing in here?”

The Antivan closed his eyes and felt blindly upon the coverlet with his bloodied hand, then held out the rings towards Fenris.

“His,” he breathed faintly. “Lost.”

“You - you were bringing them back?” said Dorian, uncomprehendingly. “But... they look like - like wedding rings almost...”

“ _Si_ ,” Zevran managed then winced faintly.

“It’s because they are wedding rings, mine. I don’t even remember them being taken off me or falling off,” Fenris said as he glanced at the rings but continued stitching. “Leave them, I’ll get them after you’re cleaned up.” The elf fell silent as he finished working and rose to get clean cloths to clean off the smaller elf.

Zevran lowered his hand and let the rings fall to the bed once more.

“ _Mi dispiace_ ,” he sighed. 

“There’s something going on here that I don’t understand,” said Dorian quietly. He shook his head and exhaled slowly before glancing up as Fenris returned with clean cloths and water.

As Fenris started to wash away the blood, Zevran merely watched him from beneath lowered golden eyelashes. His face was still pale, and he hadn’t moved the entire time he was being stitched.

“What don’t you understand, Dorian?” Fenris asked dully as he worked to clean up the other elf. He didn’t know if he should break the other man’s confidence considering he’d nearly killed this Zevran and he was on the verge of losing himself to the realization the he too had magic in his blood.

“For a start, just why you seemed so set on killing Zevran just now,” replied the magister quietly. “Particularly if he were merely returning something you’d lost.” He shook his head slowly. “Leto has never attacked Zevran in _that_ fashion. Any violence between them has been strictly consensual, by my understanding.”

Zevran gave him a faint ghost of a smile then lifted his hand to pat the magister on the cheek. “Poor Dorian, always confused, eh?” he whispered. He closed his eyes.

Fenris tried to explain, but found he couldn’t explain himself. Instead he lifted a hand and concentrated until a tiny flame appeared. He stared at Dorian as he closed his palm and tried to keep himself together; but now that he wasn’t in a towering rage, everything seemed to hit him at once. That this world’s Zevran had made him so angry it had let him use the power that had been hidden away from him. 

“And see, Leto has found his magic,” breathed Zevran as he gestured towards Fenris. “Which should be a cause for celebration; instead I have bled upon your sheets and nearly died in your arms, Dorian.” He smiled faintly. “I can think of worse places to die.”

Fenris had turned from them, unable to face the other men. He felt as if he needed to run far from them, from Skyhold but he didn’t know this world. For all he knew the troops would corner him for orders or worse, Vengeance might demand to see him. He felt himself breathing too fast, and unable to reach back and ask for help. It was all too much at once.

Zevran sighed softly. “I feel so weak,” he confessed. “I should return to the rookery and reflect upon my own foolishness alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” retorted Dorian. “You look as though you’d take two steps and fall over, in your current condition!”

“Perhaps you are right,” murmured Zevran. “In any case, Leto needs you more than I just now. I am no longer at risk of dying, I think.”

Dorian glanced up, startled. “ _Amatus_? What’s wrong?” Carefully, he laid Dorian back against the pillows then turned to Fenris as he reached for his hands. “Breathe, _amatus_! Slowly now - breathe with me. That’s it, in.... now out - slowly.... good, in....”

By degrees, Fenris’ breathing slowed to something approximating its usual rhythm.  
The elf just stared at him as he tried to stay calm. “I nearly killed him, I can’t be here. I can’t control myself. Look at me, I have no control just like Zevran has always told me. I need to go, send me home please, I’m begging!” Fenris asked before he curled in on himself again.

Dorian blinked at him, then glanced back at Zevran, who was lying still, his eyes half-open as he gazed unseeing at the bed canopy overhead. Dorian turned back to Fenris. 

“I... I _can’t_ ,” he said quietly. “Fenris, the rift closed behind us. We... we _can’t_ just send you back. We’re not even sure just how that dragon fellow was able to send us out in the courtyard here in Skyhold, but... but he closed the rift behind us once were were out - it’ll take weeks before our troops get back here from Adamant. But I can’t open a rift, Fenris; I don’t know how to even begin trying without telling Vengeance everything and hoping that perhaps he could rip a new rift for us - and even then, that would only let us step into the Fade in our world, not travel through it to yours.”

“Home… I need to go home,” Fenris repeated as he stayed turned away from Dorian and tried to not just run out of the fortress screaming. Nearly killing that version of Zevran, finding his magic was too much for first thing in the morning. “Knock me out if you can’t send me away, I can’t deal with it right now. Please, Dorian,” the elf sounded as ragged as he felt.

“If we had any doubt before that you are not Leto, we certainly have it now,” murmured Zevran faintly.

“Fenris... I am not going to knock you out,” said Dorian firmly. “You have to pull yourself together! Come on - a big, strapping man like you? You’re in the Inquisition! You were facing Nightmare in the Fade, which means that you’ve faced far worse things than this before. You’re a warrior, an experienced one - so you must be no stranger to seeing blood, even blood you’ve spilled with your own hands. Come on, man! Where’s that spine of yours? You didn’t survive and escape slavery in our homeland only to fall apart over a little setback like this!”

“Dorian,” managed Zevran weakly. “Your bedside manner is leaving much to be desired, no? Might I suggest brandy instead?” 

Dorian turned and stared at him. “ _Venhedis_! Will you shut up?” he hissed. “You’re not helping!”

“Oh, by all means,” replied the Antivan, waving a hand briefly at the magister. “Do continue then. I am sure that he so enjoys the whole lecture.” He closed his eyes. “What would this poor Antivan boy know, eh?”

“Please don’t yell at me Dorian,” Fenris asked as he stared at the magister. “I’m …” he closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. “I hurt my Zevran twice. Once in word and once in deed, I swore I’d never do that again, but in a rage I stabbed him and he nearly died in front of me. I’ve been told so often I have to master my temper and look what it nearly cost us. I can’t do this, I can’t. He came so close to the truth but it wasn’t anything my Zevran enjoyed, it nearly broke us apart for good. I’m the monster he warned me I was becoming; I can’t, Dorian.” Fenris realized he was babbling so he fell quiet as he just stared at the other men, incapable of even getting dressed.

“Do not blame yourself for my madness,” sighed Zevran. “I took things too far. If I cannot have what I crave, then I would take what I could get. I should have left the rings and gone without you being any the wiser, except you heard me land. And when you snarled... well, Leto and I have played that game, and often I have goaded him to a most satisfying conclusion for us both. I forgot myself, and then it went too far and I did not know how to stop.”

“I shouldn’t have done it, I knew better but I was so angry. I need to be put down or put under, I can’t deal with this right now,” Fenris said with a glance to the other men. “I’m so sorry.”

Dorian got to his feet and turned to look for his silk robe then pulled a face when he recalled it was now soaked with Zevran’s blood. He crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a robe instead. “I am most heartily sick of the very word ‘sorry’,” he said airily. “No-one is being put down _or_ under. I suggest that instead of wallowing, you make yourself useful and take Zevran up to the rookery. People are used to seeing Leto cart him off; I’m sure Zevran can scream a bit once you’re up there, and then no-one will expect to see him for about a week afterwards in any case.”

He moved to the dressing table, pulled a face at the state of his hair and seated himself before the mirror as he reached for the comb. “Vengeance would be expecting Leto to report to him this morning. I shall go in your stead and attempt to distract him. If he thinks you’re fucking Zevran into the mattress until he is too hoarse to scream, then he will be amused rather than angry I think, and perhaps the novelty of dealing with me for once will keep his attention off you two. Give me ten minutes to get ready, then take him up once I’ve gone.”

Zevran watched him silently for a couple of minutes, then turned his gaze back to Fenris.

Without a word, the Tevinter elf got cleaned up quickly before dressing and picking up the slighter elf. He knew if he said anything it would cause a fight, instead he took himself and the assassin up to the rookery from memories of his own visits to his husband’s office.

The Antivan stiffened in alarm as Dorian’s room vanished and they found themselves in the dark space of the rookery; he cried out in alarm then stared up at Fenris, eyes wide in the darkness. “That - what - what did you do??” he whispered. “What witchery is this?”

“Part of what I can do thanks to my markings; my Dorian figured out the magical theory side of it but it’s just part of what I can do,” Fenris answered as he settled Zevran into bed and took a chair. He started to pull down the braids his own Antivan had done up for him before the battle, unsure what to do with himself now that he was alone with the other elf. 

“Leto has never done such a thing,” said Zevran, a little shakily. “How? How did you discover that you could do such a thing?” His hand had drifted up to the stitches in his throat and he winced slightly. “Could I trouble you to pour me a little of the brandy that you will find in the square bottle upon my desk?” 

The taller elf did as he was asked, even bringing the bottle over and putting it within reach of the blond elf. He remained silent, almost waiting for a rebuke from Zevran for harming him.

Zevran sipped at the brandy. “I am sorry, but in a moment I will have to do something that I think will distress you in your current state. Dorian is correct that if you are with me, then people will expect to hear me scream. I do not expect you to _cause_ those screams however - have no fear. I am quite sure that you would sooner cut off your own hand than touch me in that way. But I should put on a performance.”

“Whatever you need to do; I don’t care right now,” Fenris said as he reached for the bottle and smiled before taking a swig. “Make me scream if you want, I don’t really care either way.”

“Make _you_ scream? No. I do not think you wish me to do to you the things that Leto does to me. But if my screams disturb you too much, do feel free to put your hand over my mouth and I shall fall silent; sometimes Leto does that and usually he gags me after. People will not consider anything amiss if my screams are cut off suddenly.” He set the glass aside. 

“Excuse me,” he said quietly. Then he threw his head back and gave a scream of bloodcurdling agony. Even as Fenris leapt up from his seat in alarm, Zevran screamed again. Then he gave a low groan before crying out loudly, “Leto! _LETO!_ Please, _no!_ ”

Fenris backpedaled as he heard the screaming, unsure if he wanted to run or if he wanted to hear the kinds of things they got up to. His face paled as he heard the things Zevran kept screaming, even covering his mouth at one point in surprised horror.

Zevran glanced at him as Fenris backed away; as he whimpered out “I’m sorry - I’m _SORRY!!_ ”, a tear slid down his face and it wasn’t clear whether the apology were to the imagined Leto... or to Fenris. He turned his face away as he cried out again. “Harder - please, HARDER!” 

Fenris wanted to run over and clamp his hand over the other elf’s mouth but he was stunned. Instead he slid down the wall and listened despite himself. It wasn’t until another sorry came from the elf that he bolted over and silenced him. “Stop, for the love of Mythal please just stop!” he begged.

Zevran’s eyes were wide as he stared up at Fenris, and his cheeks were wet. Fenris could see that Zevran was panting; as the white-haired elf stared down at him, Zevran closed his eyes and gave a small sob, muffled by Fenris’ hand.

“What kind of fucked up person am I here?” Fenris asked as he dropped his hand and curled up against Zevran. “I’m sorry he’s like that to you; Dumat….have mercy.”

Zevran let his head fall back onto the pillow with a low groan, his performance clearly exhausting him. “I was deliberately trying to recreate one of our more... extreme sessions,” he whispered hoarsely. “But I had not realised just how... unnatural perhaps, such lovemaking would seem to anyone else - or that others would be horrified by it, until I saw your face.” He was silent for a moment. “I am sorry to have distressed you. But this... this is what is expected of Zevran Arainai. He works how he can, and if the price of a man’s loyalty is to spread my legs and bear whatever they wish to do to me then... that is what I do.” He sighed softly. “His work... stresses him. He comes to me, begs for relief, that he does not take out his anger upon Dorian. And I allow him to use me for that relief.” 

He glanced away, eyes glimmering with tears. “When I heard how gently you treated Dorian... You made him scream for you last night but this morning you were so careful for him. And you made me realise just what I could never have. I had not realised it was something I could even have dreamed of for myself - but even if Leto were to return tomorrow, he would not look for gentleness from me. He would only look for my submission, and I would give it with my blood.”

He stared up at Fenris. “Why could you not have been my Leto?” he whispered. “Please tell me the Zevran in your world is not as wretched as I!”

“He’s not, only for the grace of our Anders,” Fenris said thickly before turning for the bottle. “I’m in the Void, I have to be. To land in a place where my son is dead, one of my husbands is a demon and you are a broken version of my _carissimi_ \- please tell me I died and this is my punishment.” He passed the bottle back and sighed. “I ...I would not wish to live if this were my reality,” he said quietly.

“I am too much of a coward to die,” said Zevran listlessly, and then Fenris’ words suddenly struck him. “Wait - he... he is your _carissimi_?” he asked slowly, and then he groaned. “No wonder you became even more furious and stabbed me when I called you that!” His hand had gone to his throat. “I deserved this wound, and I shall have earned the scar that I shall bear when it has healed. I am sorry. I had no way of knowing; I was too caught up in the moment and when I am like that, it is as though I am unable to stop until there is blood. Not usually quite so much of mine though, it is true.”

He began to laugh softly. “Oh, I am such a fool,” he said quietly.

“No more than I am, thinking I can fool anyone into thinking I am Leto. I hope he has not tried to visit such violence upon Zevran else they will know he is not me and may kill him,” Fenris said before taking another drink. “I wish you could hurt me, I really need my mind to be quiet.”

“I do not think you would wish the kind of hurt that a Crow could give you, even were I capable of overcoming your similarities to him and lift a hand against you in that way,” said Zevran quietly. “And I think I am too weak to do much in any case. I do not know how much of my blood was shed upon Dorian’s bed, but enough that I lost consciousness for a while, and I feel so exhausted - as though Leto had been here in truth rather than I calling up a fantasy by my voice alone.” He stared up at the rafters overhead. “And were Leto in this room now, I think I might not survive it.” He closed his eyes. “Your world must be a much kinder place, I am thinking.”

“In some ways yes. I also see that I am not far from your beloved in temperment. I regret hurting you more than I can ever say, and all I could see was my Zevran bleeding out, nearly dying because of me. I know Dorian is tired of it, but I am truly sorry.” Fenris slid to the floor and let his head tip back to the bedding. “I am so lost right now.”

“There has never been anyone else present before when Leto and I have been in this room together,” said Zevran softly. “And of course, I cannot see the faces of those who have overheard our little games. When I saw your face... I felt so ashamed, that you must bear witness to my... my depravity. I am sorry that I am so much less a man than your Zevran. Were I less of a coward then perhaps I should wish that you had finished what you had started. But I am afraid of death.”

“You’re still what the Crows made you into, that is the difference. Leto became bitter and hopeless upon Endrin’s death it seems and on the cusp of opening his heart again, this happened. Life and fate is cruel indeed. Were I not a coward, I would have ended my life well before I ever escaped, or found Invictus, Zevran, Anders...before I’d lived.” The elf sniffed and wiped at his face.

“This place has me shedding more tears than I have in a long time. I don’t know how I’ll survive this place whole or without parts of me breaking to pieces. I fear the longer I am here, the more I will become Leto especially now that my magic has been loosened. Don’t let me become him, I think I’m afraid of who he became and can see myself too easily falling to that.” 

Zevran rolled over onto his side and leaned over to rest a hand on Fenris’ shoulder. “Help me see Fenris and not Leto when I look upon you, then,” he said gently. “There is a kinder man inside you; you showed him to Dorian. And perhaps there is enough left of my soul that I can find a way to be a better man also.” As Fenris glanced up at Zevran, he caught a wistful look in the other elf’s golden eyes.

“Right now, I need someone to show me that kind of kindness since I can’t find it in myself right now,” Fenris said as he reached back and held Zevran’s hand. “What do you need from me to make it right after I hurt you?”

“I do not think I can ask that,” said Zevran very quietly, his breath catching slightly. “You would not want that from me.”

“Just ask, I have no more mental energy for guessing what people want from me,” the elf said as he turned around and sat next to the other elf. 

Zevran sat up slowly and stared up into Fenris’ eyes. A couple of his stitches had torn; blood was trickling down his neck again but he seemed oblivious as he bit his lip briefly.

“A night with you,” he breathed softly. “Make love to me as you did to Dorian. Show me what it is to be touched with gentleness; so that when you move inside me I can know what it is to know only pleasure instead of pain.” He lowered his gaze, as though certain of rejection. “It is the only thing I will ask of you, but if you will give it then I will be loyal to you. And there are few men alive in this world who can hold the loyalty of the Master of Crows. But I do not ask you to do this for your loyalty or anything else - I ask it only because I am a weak and selfish creature, and you wish there to be fairness between us.”

“As you wish; can I give you this tonight after you had a chance to rest and I can get my head together? The day hasn’t started well and I need to ...I need to try and empty my mind before I can get back to that place for you.” Fenris caressed the other elf’s face gently. “If only this was the side of you I’d first seen, I would take you now and make you moan my name rather than beg for mercy as you do for him. I could no more hurt my Zevran than you can do that for me.” 

“Perhaps people will feel yet more pity for me when they see you coming to me a second time,” murmured Zevran. “They will think you must be very angry indeed to need to take it out of the Spymaster’s hide - and thus they will avoid you, and also me. Even Vengeance does not go near Leto when he visits me twice within a day. It happens rarely, but people tend to remember these things, no? I... do not wish people to think you have hurt me that badly... but we may place the blame upon Leto.” He lay back against the pillows, one hand drifting up to touch the stitches; then he glanced at his fingers in mild surprise. “I appear to be bleeding,” he murmured.

“I’ll take care of it, lie back.” Fenris quickly found the medical kit in the same spot his own husband kept his and got to work. He was quiet as he worked, pulling back just to wipe the blood off. “Do you wish me to have food sent up and I can let you rest?” 

“No; I usually cannot eat after Leto has visited me, and whilst I am weak, I do not have the sort of barely-healed injuries they would expect after he has finished dealing with what he has done to me. Though I suppose you could dress me with a few more bandages, and maybe if you pass me that satchel beside the desk I could be a little creative with some of my paints and creams, eh?” He gave Fenris a wry smile. 

“Don’t… just rest. I think I need a walk so I can not punch the next person I see.” Fenris leaned in close enough to kiss before looking at Zevran. “May I?”

Zevran gazed up into his eyes with a faintly bemused expression; after a moment, he breathed a soft “Yes....” and he closed his eyes as he closed the space between their lips.

As Fenris made his way to the top of the stairs, he glanced back to see that Zevran had settled back against the pillows once more, face still far too pale, his eyes closed. He turned and headed back down into the keep, feeling only anger for how this version of his elven love had been abused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Zevran has experienced is obviously very much not an ideal relationship and definitely falls under the heading of domestic abuse. If you or someone you know is currently in an abusive relationship or elements of this story are uncomfortably familiar to you, please understand that what is happening is not normal, it is abuse, and no - you don't deserve it. The situation is often far more complicated than "DTMF", but we, the authors, hope that you are or will be able to access the help you need to get out of your current situation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto's night with Dorian has unexpected and serious repercussions; back in Leto's Thedas, Fenris treats Zevran gently to show him not all love has to hurt.

Leto opened his eyes to mussed dark hair and his _amatus_ in his arms. All was well, and he could forget that terrible nightmare he’d had about being in the wrong world. He nuzzled at his mage and tried to rouse him for a morning shag, even going so far as to bite at his shoulder. 

“Wake up Dorian, I want to give you something nice and hard, like you like.” The elf kept worrying at his lover but got no response which in turn bothered him. “Dorian, come on - you’re making me worried.”

Dorian was still unresponsive, deep under in sleep. As Leto rolled Dorian over onto his back, the mage was limp, his breathing slow. Leto took hold of his shoulders and shook him but he may as well have been shaking a rag doll for all the response he got. 

He placed his hands on Dorian’s forehead and over the sleeping man’s heart, sending a questing tendril of magic into the sleeping magister’s body to try and work out what was wrong; he could find no physical cause however - he had wounds, yes; they’d none of them come out of the Fade unscathed from constantly battling demons. But none of his wounds could account for the complete enervation of Dorian and his failure to awaken. In fact, after a good night’s sleep the utter exhaustion of the Tevinter mage was a mystery.

“Dorian, come on love. Wake up - this isn’t funny, and I know we didn’t shag hard enough to put you out...please open your eyes for me.” Leto was trying not to panic but he had limited healing skills and this was beyond him.

There was no answer however; Dorian did not stir. He lay as one dead - and it was getting harder to avoid panicking. He pressed the palm of his hand to Dorian’s forehead and tried a rejuvenate - to no effect. 

He kept trying various spells but nothing seemed to bring the other man out of his deep sleep. As he was about to try slapping Dorian, he heard a soft chiming. He glanced around, looking for the source of the noise; it appeared to be coming from Dorian’s left hand. He lifted it and frowned. He ran his fingers slowly over the gold rings adorning Dorian’s limp fingers; as his hand brushed over one particular ring - one set with a large, dark red cabochon - he heard Meneris’ voice, calling for his husband. And suddenly it all came flooding back - this wasn’t _his_ Dorian, and he wasn’t in his own world. This was Meneris’ husband, and Leto felt his anxiety hit a higher peak. He was remembering Dorian’s words of the previous evening; it had been a long time since last he lay with a mage that made him feel like that - and Leto was fairly certain that any mage who had fucked Dorian had not fueled his magic with lyrium branded into their skin as Leto had.

“Dorian, I know you like a good lie in but come on love; we want to start getting people home.” The elven warrior sounded relaxed, though as Dorian failed to respond the former Inquisitor’s voice got less calm.

“Dorian - you’re starting to worry me,” said Meneris. “Come on, love, or I’ll have to get one of the other mages to open a portal for me!” Then Meneris’ voice sounded a little further away - as though he had lowered his hand and turned away to call out. “Captain Amell - are you... no, wait, you’ve never been to Skyhold, have you?”

From further away, Leto could hear Amell’s voice. “I haven’t, ser - I’ll fetch one of your Skyhold mages.”

“Fetch Invictus!” ordered Meneris. “Something’s wrong with Dorian. He took Leto back to Skyhold but I can’t rouse Dorian and I don’t hear Le-”

“I’m here.” Leto had finally managed to find his own voice. “I can’t rouse Dorian. I think my magic and lyrium have... overwhelmed him, somehow. He seemed fine last night but - but I can’t wake him.” He stared down at the comatose magister and felt a horrible surge of guilt. “Inquisitor, I am so sorry. I don’t understand how this happened. This - it never happened to my own Dorian!”

“Leto....” growled Meneris. “So help me Creators but if you’ve harmed my _vhenan_....”

“Inquisitor -” began Leto but abruptly the ring vibrated once then went dark as the furious elf severed the connection, leaving Leto to cradle Dorian’s limp hand and stare at the dark ring in dread.

He managed to pull himself together enough to rise and dress again before returning to sit upon the edge of the rumpled bed and gently take Dorian’s hand again, staring down worried at the unconscious man. “Come on, Dorian,” he said softly. “Just open your eyes - please?”

Abruptly a portal crackled open behind him with a discharge of arcane fire and the scent of ozone before Meneris leapt through and ran to the bed, pushing Leto out of the way as the elf knelt upon the bed and grasped Dorian’s shoulders, shaking him as he stared into the Tevinter mage’s face. 

“Dorian? Dorian! Wake up!” the Inquisitor begged.

Other people were hurrying through the open portal; Amell, Garrett, another Chantry battlemage and two Wardens, all with grim faces. Behind them they could see Invictus holding open the portal. Meneris beckoned them over; Amell and the two Wardens moved over to the bed as Leto backed away, watching in horrified fascination as the three healers laid hands on the motionless Dorian, their hands aglow with magic.

“He’s in shock,” said the male Warden - a dark-haired elf with _vallaslin_ of Fen’harel upon his face. “He’s been overwhelmed by a massive magical discharge.”

“His mind is deep in the Fade,” nodded the other Warden - a Chasind woman, from the looks of her, with long dark chestnut hair twisted up into a braided bun. “I can try and bring him out but it won’t be easy.”

“What are the risks, Nerith?” asked Amell.

“The usual from the Fade - demons and the like, ser,” replied Nerith. “I’ve only done this once before, mind; my father had the gift but was a far more experienced Dreamwalker - I’d barely begun to learn before I joined the Wardens.”

“Is there a chance he could wake of his own accord?” asked Meneris, sitting next to Dorian and holding his unresponsive hand. 

“He might,” said Invictus as he came forward, the portal snapping closed behind him. “Something like this happened to Anders one time after he and Fen slept together - something in Fen’s lyrium overwhelmed Anders and drove him deep into dreams. He was hard to waken but he did respond eventually to an invigorate.”

“Alright, we’ll try that first,” nodded Amell. She turned and laid her hand upon Dorian’s forehead and cast an invigorate upon him.

“I - I already tried that,” faltered Leto. “It didn’t work.”

Meneris’ head whipped round and he fixed Leto with a deadly glare. “You!” he snarled. “This is _your_ fault! What did you do to him?”

Leto stared at him and opened his mouth, but before he could speak a word of explanation Meneris had leapt from his place at Dorian’s side and hurled himself at the tall elf.

“ _What did you do to my husband??_ ” screamed the Inquisitor as he reached for Leto’s throat with his silverite hand, murderous intent in his eyes.

“Meneris, calm down!” bellowed Invictus as he was somehow suddenly there between the two elves, grabbing hold of the enraged warrior and bodily dragging him away. Suddenly Garrett and the other Chantry battlemage were there as well, Garrett stepping in front of Leto who seemed paralysed as he stared at them all in horror.

“You heard them - it’s his fault!” snarled Meneris. “Let go of me - I’ll bloody kill him!”

“No-one’s killing anyone - Meneris, stand down!” replied Invictus. Between the powerfully-built former Champion and the wiry strength of the Chantry mage, Meneris was overpowered and helpless; he struggled for a moment longer then slowly stopped, though he continued to fix Leto with a dark look. 

“What’s going on?” came the sound of Dorian’s voice - faint and weak. “Why are there so many people in my room? ... A-Amell?”

“Easy, ser, you’d had a slight magical mishap,” said Amell gently as Meneris pulled away from Invictus and the Chantry mage and flung himself back on the bed next to his husband as the Chasind Warden moved to one side to give him space.

“ _Vhenan_ , are you alright?” asked Meneris, worried, as he reached for Dorian’s hand. The magister was blinking up in confusion.

“ _Amatus_?” he managed weakly. “Why are there all these people in our room? I feel... feel so weak.”

“It was my lyrium coupled with my magic,” said Leto quietly as he stepped forward. “Apparently together they... overwhelmed you. I’m so sorry.”

Meneris glared at him. “Get that bastard out of here and away from Dorian!” he snarled.

“Meneris....” protested Dorian faintly, but the male Warden was already turning to stand between the bed and Leto, even as the Chantry mage gave the white-haired elf a meaningful look, reaching for his staff.

“I’m going, I’ll... I’ll keep out of the way, this... I never meant this to happen!” exclaimed Leto as he backed away. “I’m sorry!” He was edging away towards the door. He gave Dorian another apologetic look before fleeing. 

The elf ran for the rookery, hopeful it was vacant and no one would find him for a while. He was shaken and didn’t want to face the other elf’s wrath until he’d pulled himself together a bit more. Truth be told, he’d thought maybe he’d killed Dorian for a few minutes. He found it empty and curled up in the bed he found so he could think.

Dorian stared up at Meneris. “ _Amatus_... I have worried you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry - when I suggested bringing Leto back here, I never dreamed this might happen.”

“What happened? I’m going to kill him when he shows his face again, he hurt you love. I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever,” Meneris said as he leaned down to hold his mage. He laid his head against Dorian’s chest and trembled, fear taking over now that he saw his mage was awake.

Dorian glanced up at the other people crowding the room, and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. It was one thing to have a reputation as a flirt; it was another to admit to a room full of strangers that he - a married man - had slept with another man’s husband. Particularly given that the man in question happened to be a mirror-world version of Invictus’ husband - who was standing near the foot of the bed.

He glanced back to Meneris. “Too many people,” he murmured. “I feel hemmed in.”

At that Meneris looked around and scowled. “He’s awake, you all can leave us. Vic, can you please gather the mages and open a portal for those that want to return now and Dorian will hopefully feel up to a portal in three days after you’ve waited.” 

Vic gave them a curious glance but didn’t embarrass Dorian by asking just what Leto had done to him in bed. Instead he gathered up everyone to allow them some privacy. “I’ll check in later, glad to see you awake.” He left them, though he felt uneasy about what they’d walked in on.

Dorian waited until they were alone, then drew a slow breath that he exhaled on a sigh. “Forgive me, but I wasn’t about to blurt out every lurid detail in front of a group of strangers. There are enough rumours about me as it is, and I really didn’t want to fuel them.” He frowned faintly as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have the beginnings of a splitting headache - I swear, I have never gone that deep into the Fade before.” He glanced up at his husband. “I’ve slept with other mages before and never had an experience like that - not even with Rilienus, though that came the closest, but we’d both taken lyrium potions and orichalcum on _that_ occasion - which I really can’t recommend, by the way; ghastly hangover that lasted three days, I swear. And I’ve been shagged thoroughly by Fenris on more than one occasion - both before _and_ after his changes in Mythal’s temple - and he’s never done anything close to what I experienced last night. But it seems that magic coupled with lyrium is... quite the mind-blowing experience to be on the receiving end of if you happen to be a mage, and I was woefully unprepared for it. I came so hard I think I passed out from it, and then when I fell asleep I think I was propelled further into the Fade than I have ever gone of my own accord, to the point that I feared I might never find my own way back.”

He shuddered, looking pale. “That was rather unnerving, I must say. Though I wasn’t expecting to wake up to a room full of strange people - then again, I was afraid I might not wake up at all, which was a whole different order of unnerving.”

“I thought….I thought I had lost you love, my _vhenan_. I was so scared when I saw you lying there like that. Creators, I lost a few years off my life. I’m so glad you woke up,” Meneris said softly.

“In one very real sense I _was_ lost, _amatus_ ,” Dorian replied sombrely. “What happened? How did they call me back?”

“I’m not sure actually, I was trying to kill Leto at the time. I’m just glad you woke up.” The elf traipsed his fingers over his husband’s chest as he sighed. “Now people will think I hate Fenris since so few people know that’s not him; my anger will forever be a detriment.” Meneris tried to smile and failed. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be angry with him, _amatus_ ,” pleaded Dorian. “If the look on his face just before he fled was anything to judge by, I think it’s clear he had no more idea that that would happen than I did - and doubtless will be taking it very much to heart just as our own Fenris would.”

“I thought you were dead!” Meneris shouted before he caught himself. “I...I know he didn’t mean it, but my heart damn near stopped when I saw you lying so still, barely breathing. I can’t lose you, Dorian.” The elf was quiet and looked away.

As Meneris’ voice had risen to a shout, Dorian had flinched; his eyes were closed and he lay tense now. “Please don’t shout,” he whispered. “Please - please, don’t shout. You have no idea how terrified _I_ was. I tell you I have _never_ been that deep in the Fade before - I saw beings, entities - I couldn’t tell if they were spirits or demons, only that their intelligence was utterly foreign and alien to me and I felt like a mouse might in a room full of cats. I couldn’t even see the Black City. I don’t know where I was, and I thought I might die before I ever found my way back to my body.” He shuddered. “Meneris... please... I need you!” He bit back a sob that had risen unbidden to his throat.

“Don’t cry love, please. I’m sorry.” Meneris crawled fully onto the bed and pulled his husband into his arms. “I’ve got you, it’s ok, it’s ok _vhenan_.” 

Dorian pressed himself against his husband and clenched his eyes shut as he tried not to give in to the tears that were threatening to spill; his throat felt tight and hot. He gasped a ragged breath and buried his face against Meneris’ chest. 

“I’ll... I’ll be alright in a minute,” he murmured shakily. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. What do you need from me?” Meneris asked quietly. He felt a bit calmer but was still shaken up. 

“Just... hold me,” whispered Dorian. 

As the warrior elf held him close and safe, Dorian concentrated on slowing his breathing down from ragged, panting gasps to slow, steady breaths as he focused on calming his racing heart. As the brief surge of adrenaline slowly left his system, he felt his body slowly relaxing by degrees even as the adrenaline comedown left him feeling a little weak and shaky.

“Thank you,” Dorian finally managed in something approximating his normal voice. “Sorry to fall apart on you like that, _amatus_. I think I was a little overwhelmed emotionally as well as psychically. That... that was a deeply unpleasant experience.” He lay back against the pillows and drew a deeper breath. “If I had thought more on it before begging for Leto to use magic then I should have realised the danger myself - but I was too caught up in the moment, and of course Leto would be too used to a Dorian who is experienced at handling such a discharge of magic from him without being thrown so far into the Fade.” 

“I suppose I should find him and speak to him so people don’t think I plan to murder Fenris the moment I see him again. He turned tail and ran, which is something I’ve not seen your friend do often,” Meneris replied as he got up to look for healing potions and get them water.

“Run? No,” replied Dorian as he managed to sit up. “But hide? I’m afraid my _amicus_ has done that, more than once. Do you remember - when he took himself off up Belann’s tower, and I managed to embarrass myself by fainting when I encountered him there in dragon form? Though I doubt Leto will have fled there; he’d have no reason to, that I can see.”

“Is there anywhere else he would hide? Though we know little of him and his habits; he could have gone back to Adamant for all we know.” Meneris set a tray over his husband’s lap with a couple of healing potions and lyrium in case he needed it. “Are you hungry love?”

“Famished,” declared Dorian. “There’s something about surviving the deep Fade that leaves one rather starving.” 

He gave his husband a reassuring grin as Meneris headed off to dispatch a servant to fetch breakfast.

**

Fenris found the door to the Rookery unlocked that evening; as he made his way up into the Spymaster’s domain, he found it softly illuminated by candles. The ravens by the balcony were quiet, save for the occasional flap of feathers and soft _caw_.

Zevran himself was seated in a chair by the fire, a glass of brandy in one hand as he watched the flames. He wore a soft blue silk scarf about his neck to cover the bandage covering his stitches.

As Fenris reached the top of the stairs, Zevran glanced over at him. “I was not sure if you would come,” he said quietly. “I think a part of me had been convinced this morning was all a dream - apart from these stitches.” His hand drifted up to touch the blue silk before he rose to his feet and set his glass aside. Then slowly he walked towards Fenris.

“So, I must ask. Is it still as Fenris you come to me... or as Leto?” He halted in front of Fenris then dropped to his knees and bowed his head as he waited.

Fenris pulled him back up to his feet and forced Zevran to look at him. “No bowing, no kneeling. I will only be Leto if you wish to call his name tonight. Otherwise, I am here as myself, to give you more than pain, and...humiliation. I can’t do that to you, or any version of my beloved, my _carissimi_. I will never, ever ask you to scream the things he does. Do you understand?” His voice was rough, and he was worried the Antivan wanted him to do the things his other self usually did when they were alone.

Zevran had softly gasped as he was forced back to his feet to stare up at Fenris. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “Leto has always preferred me to be upon my knees when we begin. He... likes to use my mouth first. If I displease him... it is, it is what we have agreed. I offer my mouth, or we will begin with the punishment. I...” Zevran fell silent as he saw only horror in Fenris’ eyes. “You... you do not... you truly do not wish that of me, do you?” he slowly continued as understanding dawned in his eyes. “You have my consent to do with me whatever you wish - and yet... you do not wish... to hurt me.”

“No...Mythal … what the fuck is wrong with Leto? I ...never hurt _mi cariadad_ ; even when we play, I don’t humiliate him. I need...Dumat.” Fenris turned away so Zevran wouldn’t think he was angry with him, but he felt his control slipping with the desire to hurt Leto for what he’d done to both Zevran and Dorian. He looked around for the brandy that the other elf had but couldn’t find words at how horrified he felt.

“But no - please, do not blame him!” said Zevran as he stared at Fenris. “He must deal with that demon who wears Anders’ skin and it is very hard, yes? Very stressful. I help him deal with that stress, that anger; I offered him my body to use so that he may relieve that stress and not inflict his anger upon others, you see?” He laid a hand upon Fenris’ arm as he continued to stare, anxiously, at the white-haired elf who refused to look at him.

“Do you not see?” Zevran pressed. “I allow him to do this willingly, I consented to it! Even when I must be punished, I have agreed for him to do whatever he pleases to me to relieve that stress! Dorian does not deserve his anger, his fire - _I_ do!” He let his hand fall from Fenris’ arm. “If sometimes he goes too far, then it is only my fault for goading him,” he whispered. “If he does this to me, it is because I know he must deal with his anger where it will not hurt anyone else. So I push, and he punishes me for not being satisfied. If I have been hurt, it was because I earned it. Do not hate him for my own mistakes.” He swallowed hard, then tried to fall to his knees once more.

Fenris grabbed him again and made the elf sit in his chair before he started to pace, occasionally throwing horrified glances at Zevran. “Do you hear yourself? He is abusing both of you, Dumat have mercy if I ever meet him. This is wrong! He doesn’t love you, Zevran, and you’ve convinced yourself you deserve what scraps he gives you! You don’t deserve to be his punching bag while he goes to Dorian after or before. Maker...this is so wrong, so very, very wrong.” Fenris actually ran his hands through his hair in agitation as he kept pacing. 

“He is hurting both of you, why can’t you see this? WHY?” he asked before snatching up the other elf’s drink and taking a sip. “This is what Zevran warned me about becoming if I didn’t learn to control myself.”

Zevran watched as the elf paced, then turned his gaze back to the fire. “So, you make Dorian scream - just as _he_ does - and yet you are also gentle to him, which Leto is not, although I know he loves Dorian and never leaves him with lasting hurt. You will not touch me as he does - you... truly do not want me as he does? And yet, you are angry.” He glanced up at Fenris. “You pace like an angry tiger.... I know you have teeth and claws that would rival any wild beast, and yet although you bit Dorian, you... will not bite me.” He spoke slowly, almost hesitantly. “Though I have angered you, you... seem to regret having hurt me.” His hand stole up to his throat as he spoke, though his eyes were distant. “And you do not seek to punish me for having goaded you into attacking me.”

He finally looked up at Fenris. “I do not understand you,” he said quietly. “You are not like Leto. You ask me for something I cannot give, to pay me for something I have already given you freely. I madden you and you stab me - and then you care for me and express concern for me when you learn how I am treated by the man whose face you wear. Were you Leto, then I should either have your cock down my throat by now or else be tasting your belt - but you are not him.”

Fenris found he had no words as he stared down at the Antivan.

“You will leave me aching and wanting, denied bruises, denied the taste of you?” breathed Zevran softly. “And what if I tell you that I would gladly take either from you - that I give you my consent - here, now, once more - to do with as you wish?”

“I will not hurt you, Zevran,” vowed Fenris.

“No more than you have already, eh?” replied Zevran with a sad little half-smile as he reclined back into the chair again. He lifted one leg to rest it over the arm of his chair as he leaned against the other arm and tilted his head to one side as he reached up a hand to the neck of his shirt and toyed with the laces holding it closed. He reached up and tugged at the blue silk scarf then pulled it free, draping the silk over the arm of the chair next to his thigh. Keeping his eyes on Fenris, he slowly tugged undone the laces of his shirt one by one. 

“I wonder... if you will not strike me in either love or anger... what then must I do to earn a taste of you?” he whispered. The shirt now gaped open, and Fenris could see smooth tawny skin as Zevran slipped a hand inside his shirt and slowly began to stroke and fondle his own nipple. The Antivan gave a soft, faint groan and let his head drop back to rest against the back of the chair, even as his other hand slid down to cup his groin through his leather pants.

As Fenris stared down at him, he felt both aroused and yet also revulsed. Staring at Zevran, he could all too clearly imagine the Antivan on his knees in front of him, those pink lips stretched around Fenris’ cock - just as his own Zevran had done for him so often before. And yet, he found himself wondering how often in his life Zevran had had to put on such a performance of arousal for other men who could easily have killed him. He thought of his own Zevran’s denunciations of himself as a whore, and felt pity for the Antivan who reclined before him now, hoping to seduce him and thereby... what? Save himself a beating? Did he somehow think this was all some trick?

Zevran had closed his eyes as he fondled his own nipples and rutted slowly against his own hand through the soft black leather of his pants. “Fenris,” he panted softly. “Come closer....”

Fenris set the glass aside and came to stand in front of Zevran. He leaned over the smaller elf, one hand braced upon the back of the chair beside Zevran’s head as he reached down with the other to grasp Zevran’s wrist and pull it away from his groin.

Zevran’s eyes snapped open and he stared up at Fenris in surprise.

“Zevran... you don’t have to do this,” said Fenris sadly. “Do you think I can’t see what you’re doing? I spent over half my life as a slave in Tevinter. I can recognise an attempt to seduce a feared master in the hopes it will distract them from beating you. I told you the truth: I will not lift my hand to hurt you like that. You don’t need to do this.”

He straightened and tugged Zevran up to his feet; the blond elf could only stare at him, surprised into silence as Fenris drew him after him towards the bed, his grasp firm around Zevran’s wrist but without hurting him.

As Fenris turned Zevran around and moved his hand from Zevran’s wrist to his shoulder and gently pushed him down to sit upon the edge of the bed, the Antivan gazed up at him.

“What are you going to do to me then?” he whispered.

Fenris smiled sadly. “Nothing,” he replied gently. “You don’t have to seduce me.You’re safe from me, Zevran, and you have no idea how much it hurts me to see you like this.”

Zevran’s expression turned bleak. “So, that is it, then - you pity me, eh? You pity me, and so you will not lay a hand on me - not in roughness _or_ in gentleness. You showed me with your words what gentleness could be like and then you snatch it away, eh? Gentleness for Dorian but none for Zevran.” He glanced away. “Go, then,” he said sombrely. “Go back to your Dorian. You lie to me just as _he_ does.” He blinked rapidly, his face turned away.

“Zevran -” began Fenris, feeling frustration rise and forcing it back down.

“You promised me a night!” snapped Zevran as he turned to face Fenris once more, a single tear slipping free to run down his cheek. “One night, you agreed! And now we see what your promise was worth, eh? You will not treat me as _he_ does, no - but you will not treat me as you did Dorian, either! Instead you stand there with your pitying looks, looking down at Zevran as everyone does!”

“Zevran -”

“ _I don’t need your pity!!_ ” screamed Zevran as he glared at Fenris through his tears. “I don’t need you, or your false promises, or your soft words! I don’t -”

Fenris pressed a hand over Zevran’s mouth, cutting him off; the Antivan tried to push him away but Fenris gently pushed him back to lie down upon the bed as he lifted a knee up onto the bed next to the Antivan.

He lifted his hand from Zevran’s mouth and the smaller elf pulled back as he glared at Fenris. “I don’t need you!” screamed Zevran. “You with your soft words and your -”

Fenris bent down and silenced Zevran with a kiss, a tear running down his own cheek.

Zevran beat his fists against Fenris’ chest half-heartedly, though Fenris wasn’t pinning him down and the Antivan could have pulled away if he had truly wished to. But after a moment, Zevran’s hands clenched tight to Fenris’ shirt as he half-lifted himself from the bed to return Fenris’ kiss with a soft, anguished moan.

Fenris slipped a hand around Zevran’s waist to support the elf as he shifted slightly; Zevran continued to cling to his shirt as Fenris moved them onto the bed properly. Then Fenris lay down on his side and wrapped his arms loosely around Zevran as they continued to kiss.

When they finally parted for breath, Zevran had fallen silent. He opened his golden eyes to stare at Fenris as the warrior gently carded a hand through the Antivan’s pale gold hair.

“I didn’t lie,” said Fenris gently. “And I will keep my promise - but you must promise me something first.”

“Anything,” whispered Zevran brokenly. Fenris smiled sadly at him.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he sighed. “You’ll promise anything of yourself for the smallest scrap of comfort when you deserve so much more.”

“No, no I -” began Zevran; Fenris silenced him with a light kiss.

“Hush,” he murmured. “All I ask is that you say nothing more about deserving to be punished. You’ve been punished far more than enough.”

Zevran blinked away another tear. “I promise,” he managed, in the barest ghost of a whisper.

Fenris smiled gently at him. “Then... may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” breathed Zevran, as he lifted himself up to kiss Fenris. 

When they parted for breath, Zevran reached for his shirt but checked his motion as Fenris laid a hand upon his.

“Please, allow me?” he asked. 

Zevran stared at him then slowly nodded. Fenris gave him an encouraging smile as he sat up, pulling Zevran up with himself. He slipped the open shirt off one tawny golden shoulder then bent down to kiss it. As he drew that sleeve all the way down Zevran’s arm then off, he caught Zevran’s wrist lightly.

“May I?” he murmured. At the Antivan’s silent nod, he bent down and bestowed a soft kiss on the inside of Zevran’s wrist. Zevran’s breath hitched briefly, but the Antivan remained silent.

Fenris drew him up to stand then moved behind the smaller elf and slowly slipped the shirt off Zevran’s other shoulder.

“Please?” he whispered as he lowered his head until his breath was warm against Zevran’s bare skin; in mute answer, Zevran tilted his head slightly so that his hair swung out of the way. Fenris pressed gentle kisses to the Antivan’s shoulder, to his collarbone, and to the side of his neck; he felt Zevran shiver slightly, although the room was not cold. 

The shirt slid to the floor, and Fenris trailed a hand down the back of Zevran’s arm from shoulder down to the back of Zevran’s wrist; as Fenris lifted it, Zevran whispered, “Yes.” Tenderly, reverentially, Fenris placed a gentle kiss on the inside of that wrist, then the inside of Zevran’s elbow; as he placed another soft kiss on Zevran’s shoulder the Antivan lifted his arm and reached back to slide his hand into Fenris’ hair even as he tilted his head aside for the next kisses to clavicle and neck. The Antivan turned slightly in Fenris’ arms and the white-haired warrior saw that Zevran’s eyes were closed. Zevran tilted his head back in mute entreaty, and Fenris kissed his throat oh, so gently over the white bandages and stitched flesh before pressing another kiss to the line of the smaller elf’s jaw. 

Zevran turned his head to catch Fenris’ lips with his own; Fenris allowed Zevran to deepen the kiss of his own accord. When they parted for breath, Zevran opened his eyes again to gaze up at him, and Fenris gave him another smile. Then he lowered himself to one knee and laid a hand against the lacings of Zevran’s pants before looking up at Zevran.

“Please,” murmured Zevran, his breath coming a little faster. Fenris deftly unlaced them, then slid them down over the other elf’s hips, freeing Zevran’s cock.

As Fenris leaned forward, his lips parting, Zevran checked him with a hand to his shoulder; Fenris glanced up again. 

“Let me do this for you?” asked Fenris. Zevran swallowed audibly, then jerkily nodded. Fenris leaned forward again and drew Zevran’s cock into his mouth, and the Antivan cried out as he felt his member enclosed in the hot, wet warmth of Fenris’ mouth.

Fenris drew back, swirling his tongue around the head of Zevran’s cock then pressing firmly against its underside as he took him down again, hollowing his cheeks as he swallowed around Zevran’s heated flesh. He glanced up at Zevran and the Antivan groaned softly.

“Fenris,” he breathed, his breath catching in his throat. “S-so good....”

Fenris smiled around his mouthful of cock and then bent to his work, focusing on making Zevran feel as good as possible. He only drew away when he felt Zevran’s legs begin to tremble and the Crow’s breath coming in pants. He pulled his mouth from Zevran’s cock and the Antivan cried out louder in protest. 

“No, please - I beg of you!” he cried. “I -”

Swiftly Fenris rose to his feet and stifled Zevran’s protest with his hand, followed swiftly with a kiss; Zevran moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he tasted himself upon Fenris’ tongue.

“Still alright with this?” he asked when they parted once more for breath. Zevran nodded.

“ _Si_ , I am... I am fine,” he managed. “Only please -”

“Hush,” murmured Fenris. “Let me take care of you.”

Zevran managed to nod, and Fenris guided him carefully back to the bed. Zevran lay down without prompting, and Fenris pulled off his boots before tugging off the Antivan’s pants.

Then he straightened and began to undress, keeping his eyes on Zevran the whole time until he finally stood naked before him. “Do you want me to continue?” he asked quietly. Zevran nodded and made to turn onto his stomach, but Fenris stayed him with a hand to his hip. As Zevran rolled back with a quizzical look, Fenris leaned over him and smiled. “I would like to be able to see your face,” he explained. “Zevran... what would you like me to do? Would you like me to finish you with my mouth, or may I put my cock inside you?”

“I want to feel you inside me,” panted Zevran. “I want you to fuck me. Now, quickly!” He spread his legs, hooking his hands behind his knees to open himself up.

“Wait a minute,” said Fenris as he rose from the bed to fetch the vial of oil he’d taken earlier from Dorian’s room and left in his tunic. 

He opened Zevran gently, easing his fingers in with plenty of oil; it was only when Zevran made a noise of frustration that he twisted his fingers inside his body just _so_ to brush the Antivan’s sensitive spot. He was rewarded with a loud, breathless cry. He did it again, and then again, and again, and again until Zevran was a writhing, hot, sweaty mess, reduced to frantic pants and begging.

He oiled his cock thoroughly, slicking himself up, and then he slid slowly into Zevran, easing his way in until he was fully sheathed inside the smaller elf’s willing body.

He took him - gently, tenderly, with conscientious care, speeding up slowly until he was driving them both to their climax, holding himself back until Zevran came apart and then shuddered in a climax that had him screaming Leto’s name even as Fenris crested into his own finish with a stifled grunt.

He pulled out gently then cleaned them up as Zevran’s breathing slowed from ragged pants into something approximating his normal rhythm; and then Fenris got them both under the covers as Zevran wept. Fenris held him close until Zevran’s tears quietened and he passed out into an exhausted sleep.

It was some time after that Fenris followed him into dreams.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meneris leads the allies back through portals to Adamant, where Zevran discovers an unexpected guest in his bed; in the other Thedas, Dorian and Fenris discover exactly how that Zevran keeps the loyalty of certain of his agents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dubcon

It was dawn at Adamant. As agreed, Meneris had given the order and they had remained there a further three days. It gave them a chance to care for the wounded, and for the healers to stabilise Anders. No-one wanted to take any unnecessary chances with the former Warden. With more of the wounded able to leave the infirmary tent, the more senior healers - including Amell and the Chasind Warden, Nerith, who had returned with Invictus once they were satisfied that Dorian was in no further danger - were able to treat Anders, monitoring his condition and applying gentle healing magic to strengthen his damaged heart. By the time Meneris gave the order to break camp, they were finally satisfied that Anders was stable enough to be moved.

They were all heartily glad to be leaving Adamant; the stench of the decaying dragon made for an unpleasant experience - particularly for those parts of the encampment which were in closest proximity to its massive bulk.

Only Zevran and Aeolus seemed unwilling to leave, in spite of the foul smell; daily they had sat upon the broken stone wall nearest to where the rift disappeared, for long hours waiting in companionable silence in case Fenris should somehow find his way back there. Ellowynne would go to fetch Zevran each evening and persuade him back to the tent for food and rest, even as Isabela did the same for Aeolus. A friendship was growing between the young mage and the pirate; Invictus wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

Invictus was heartily glad of his step-daughter’s presence; she was a comfort to both he and Zevran. She would rise early each day to care for and exercise Lady, the dracolisk, before brewing elfroot tea for Zevran to ease the pain of his leg which was always worst in the morning; then she would quietly accompany Invictus to sit beside Anders as the blond mage slept. She would leave her father’s side from time to time to bring food and drink to both Invictus and Zevran before returning to join Invictus in their quiet vigil. At evening, she would walk with Invictus to the mess tent where they would collect trays for the evening meal. Then she would go and fetch Zevran back for the evening meal before tending to Zevran’s leg which had invariably stiffened up during the day. 

Invictus was certain that there was something different about Ellowynne; when he confided in Pin and Callus quietly one evening, Pin had nodded and murmured that Ellowynne now seemed rather mature for her age. Marian had concurred. They were all four at a loss to explain it; Ellowynne said very little of her journey alone to find her father, but it was clear that she had set off from Skyhold a child, and arrived at Adamant a young woman.

It was Ellowynne who finally persuaded Zevran to give up his lonely vigil; the Antivan had insisted vehemently that he wished to stay and wait - alone if need be. She had spoken to him gently, reminding him that Anders and Invictus needed him. As those mages who could cast portals gathered together - Invictus among them - the rest of the camp lined up; including the Antivan, leading his horse.

These portals would not be the same as those individual portals they were used to creating. This time, coordinated by the use of Dorian and Meneris’ paired rings, they would be creating portals in a different manner. Dorian had remained behind in Skyhold to gather and direct the mages of the college to form five large portals, each cast by two mages working in unison, even as the two Wardens and the Chantry battlemage who had accompanied Amell to Skyhold joined the Skyhold battlemages - including Pin, Marian and Garrett - under Invictus’ direction to form five portals at their end. Then from the Skyhold end, a third mage at each portal cast a modified Fade step to reach through to the anchoring Adamant portal and folded the Fade to join the two.

Each portal was far larger than any one mage could have cast alone; working in teams they had created portals large enough to allow each of the wagons to pass through, and with the effort of maintaining it shared between five mages in total, the drain on any one mage was minimised. In the space of perhaps an hour, the Chargers and the battlemages from Skyhold, the Nevarran cavalry under Cullen and Cassandra, and the Wardens under Nathaniel had passed through the portals to emerge in the great courtyard of Skyhold. Carver and Invictus had already said their goodbyes, and the Chantry forces - minus Amell and the other Chantry battlemage, a taciturn fellow by the name of Torwen - had departed that morning for the journey back to Val Royeaux.

Anders had been placed in one of the wagons which had been cleared and converted for use transporting those wounded who were unable to walk or ride. Amell rode with them. 

As the Adamant-side mages passed back through the portals, they were the last to leave Adamant, the massive portals winking out behind them as the Skyhold mages let them collapse and dissipate.

Invictus and Ellowynne accompanied Anders to the Infirmary; Zevran had gone with them but found it hard to stay and watch his husband lie there, pale and silent as he slept in a deep, healing sleep, and after a while he had withdrawn quietly and retreated to the Rookery. It had been in a sad and sorry state the last time he had seen it, but in the weeks since they had departed Skyhold for Adamant the Skyhold carpenters and craftspeople had repaired it and restored it to much of its original form. Zevran fetched his belongings from Anders’ rooms and headed up the stairs to the Rookery.

It was a long climb, and where once he would have run up lithely without a second thought, now he walked slowly, pausing often as his leg protested. He was tired, his leg aching by the time he reached the top; he had to pause for a while when he reached the door, leaning against the stone wall whilst he caught his breath and kneaded the spasmed muscles in his weaker leg. Then he pushed open the door and entered. 

He made his way over to the sleeping area and hung his clothes in the closet, his pack dropped to the floor nearby, and he set down his satchel of poisons and vials upon the floor beside his desk. Divesting himself of most of his knives, he then limped slowly towards the balcony. A few crows had already gathered there - including, he noticed, the white crow that had become so fond of Hal. A store of food had been set by close at hand, and Zevran spent some time feeding and caring for his feathered servants. The white crow flew up to perch upon his shoulder, and sadly he stroked her.

“I am sorry, little one,” he said gently. “Hal will not be returning. But I shall care for you now, hmm?”

The white crow seemed to understand him; she crooned softly, rubbing her head against his cheek. She remained upon his shoulder, riding easy as he turned and limped towards the bed. 

“I am tired, little one. I must rest for a while; whilst I have not yet reached forty, still my body feels old and aches.” He sighed. “Zevran Arainai Hawke is old before his time and weary.”

Halfway to the bed, the white crow spread her wings and screeched a warning. Zevran halted, and then he saw what had alarmed her; a figure huddled in the bed. The Antivan circled upon silent feet around the bed to his desk and snatched up his long fighting knives before approaching the bed.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my room?” he snarled.

Startled, Leto sat up and glanced around. “Zevran?” he exclaimed. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes were still glazed from sleep. With a screech of alarm the white crow took off from Zevran’s shoulder and winged swiftly back to the balcony to rejoin the other birds as Zevran stepped closer to the bed, his blades lowered.

“What are you doing here?” repeated Zevran with a small frown. He halted beside the bed and stared down at the white-haired elf.

Leto saw the knives and backed up. “I...I caused Dorian to go deep into the Fade and the Inquisitor wanted my head. There were too many people there and I panicked, I just came here out of habit from my own world. I’d hoped it was just a nightmare when I woke up, but when I heard Meneris’ voice, I remembered. It was not an ideal way to start the day. I’ve been here ever since.” 

The elf kept glancing at the knives Zevran held then back to the blond elf. “I’ll find somewhere else to be since you’re back.” Leto stayed put, unsure if he was in danger or not.

Zevran’s frown deepened slightly but sheathed his blades before limping closer to the bed. “So, _you_ were the cause of that little panic two mornings ago, eh?” he remarked as he reached out to brace himself against the nearest bedpost. “Ah, now I understand what Invictus was talking about. I was not there when he took the healers to Skyhold, and I was tired and weary by the time Wynne brought me back to the tent for our evening meal.” He paused and eyed Leto for a moment then chuckled. “You look like a nervous cat who thinks their tail is perhaps too close to the rocking chair. And which way will you jump in a room full of rocking chairs?”

He moved around the bed slightly then sank down upon the end with a stifled groan and leaned against the upright post. “Do not worry, Ser Cat; the chair is... hmm. Unoccupied at present and no danger to you, if you will forgive me stretching the metaphor a little, eh?” He gestured at Leto. “Relax. You have not yet given me cause to think you deserve my blade.” 

The elf got out of the Antivan’s way and sat in the chair. “Apologies, I don’t know where to go really. I would like to find out if Dorian is alright, but I dare not go to their rooms.” Leto sat back and waited to be kicked out so the other elf could rest.

Zevran crawled onto the bed and then lay back to rest against the pillows with a low groan. “Apology accepted,” he shrugged with a brief wave of his hand. “Dorian is fine I think; he and Invictus oversaw the creation of the portals which brought us all back so swiftly. I would not have thought so many could be transported so far and so fast - but then I am no mage.” He gave Leto a shrewd look. “But doubtless you would, hmm?”

“The portals are new to me, I have not known of my powers for long and I’ve never done such things,” Leto said quietly. He glanced to the other elf before checking the room. “Do you need healing or potions?”

Zevran shook his head. “Potions only take the edge off a little and they make me sleepy when I am already tired; they cannot heal what is wrong with my leg. You felt it yourself, hmm? Old damage.” He shrugged. “I am used to it. Do not trouble yourself. The discomfort reminds me not to take my ease too much, eh?” He winked at Leto. “So. You have no place to sleep, I take it? My Fenris would generally sleep with Invictus or Anders, and usually I would be found in Anders’ rooms in any case. But I have my Rookery for those times when I need solitude, he also had rooms here. I think they may still be serviceable too. I can show you the way - well, in a little while perhaps.” He gestured to his leg. “You will forgive me if I am not too keen on climbing those stairs again just yet.”

“I’ve been in here since leaving Dorian’s rooms, I don’t know where anything is or if this place is like the Skyhold I know. My guess is you have a Commander, so my rooms aren’t open. I’ll keep out of your way and be quiet in here if you don’t mind me taking a chair or the floor?” Leto asked. 

“The Inquisition disbanded a few years ago,” replied Zevran. “We do not have a Commander anymore, and I doubt Cullen and his good wife will be too keen on sleeping in his former quarters now; it is not as though they will stay long, after all. I do not think you would like to sleep there however; if you go over to the balcony you will be able to see the roof of his room from here. It is quite fallen in and uninhabitable now I am afraid.” He gestured over towards the couch in the seating area. “I can assure you that that couch is quite comfortable to sleep upon; I have slept there myself when Leliana was the Spymaster. You are welcome to stay.”

“Thank you Zevran.” Leto ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “Do you wish me to let you be for a while? You’ve just returned and I’m sure seeing me as a reminder of your missing love doesn’t help.” 

Zevran glanced away, the only outward sign of his discomfort the hand that clenched slowly into a fist. “They would not let me stay behind,” he said softly. “I would have stayed. I was not afraid to stay there alone. But I was not permitted.” He closed his eyes. “The pain in my leg is almost a welcome distraction from the thought that my _carissimi_ might somehow return there and find himself alone there, and I none the wiser.”

“If he can do that same portal trick, wouldn’t he come here if this is home? I can’t imagine he’d just stay alone at the fortress,” Leto replied. 

“This is not home,” said Zevran softly. “We are only here because Anders needs more healing than Invictus or Pin could give him - even Garrett is not as experienced as Hal was. But poor Hal is dead, and so to Skyhold we must come, where there are many healers. But this is not home.” He opened his eyes and gazed towards the balcony where the crows were shifting uneasily and restlessly. “There is a storm coming,” Zevran murmured. “See, my birds know.”

“Where is home then? Does this storm mean something to you, or are you just unhappy not to have _him_ back?” Leto glanced at the balcony as he noticed the other elf doing so. He wasn’t sure what else was wrong but he felt ill at ease, as if someone was walking over his grave all of a sudden. 

Zevran sat up, staring towards the balcony with a small frown. “I... do not know what this means,” he said slowly. “But something has me uneasy, and it is not just that my _carissimi_ is apart from me - though that is a part of it, perhaps. But....” 

He sighed and lay back again. “Perhaps it is merely paranoia,” he said quietly. “So much has happened, and things are not as they should be. We should be at home in Nevarra. Hal should still be alive - yes, and Arden too! He should not have died there, even if it was only what they both expected. And things were wrong even before then. Nightmare has been destroyed, the rift closed, all should be in their own worlds - and yet you and my _carissimi_ are not. Even my Rookery feels different; it is no longer mine, I think, and yet where else would I go?” He threaded a hand into his hair and exhaled slowly. “Forgive me. I am starting at shadows. And here you are, where _everything_ is wrong for you - and that is not the mere ramblings of a Crow who has outlived his usefulness, eh?”

“It’s fine, I’m ...I’ll have to be alright eventually. I’m just off kilter myself. It's not just your ramblings, but I don’t think you’ve outlived your usefulness. At least not from what I’ve seen; but my thoughts don’t matter.” Leto chuckled. “I should probably stop hiding from everyone and let Meneris rage at me.” 

“Oh, Dorian is fine, _they_ at least are in their own homes again, and Nightmare and Adamant are vanquished. I think Meneris will not be too angry. But he will appreciate it if you go rather more than if you must be found - and that way perhaps you will find a more comfortable bed than my couch too.” He glanced over at the other elf and smiled. “But if you feel in need of a familiar face, the door of the Rookery is always open. I may not be your Zevran, but I have brandy and I am assured I am a good listener.” His smile became a sly grin. “I am also assured I give _fantastic_ back rubs, if you feel stressed, hmm?” He chuckled and waved at Leto. “I shall be here for some time, I think. I do not know how long it will take for Dorian and the mages’ college to find a way to send you home, and _mi cuore_ is gravely ill. I shall not be going anywhere until he is well enough to go home.”

The Antivan lay back and closed his eyes. After a moment, the white crow took wing, gliding across the room to land upon the headboard of the bed. She eyed Leto for a moment then sidled closer to Zevran then settled herself, staring at the white-haired elf with unblinking eyes.

Abruptly three more crows took off with a whirr of feathers and wings, harshly screaming as they swooped around the room before darting out and into the sky, leaving the Rookery in peace once more.

Leto got up reluctantly, wanting desperately to just ask to stay with the other person familiar to him in this strange world, but he wasn’t sure he could take a no. “May I return after I brave seeing Meneris? I’m willing to do what you need to let me stay.” 

“I think I need to stop thinking so much,” said Zevran quietly. “I think perhaps if you return, we might share one of my bottles of brandy, no?”

“Of course, I’d be happy to and might need a drink after he’s done with me. Wish me luck.” Leto gave him a final worried glance before heading off to get chewed out.

Dorian and Meneris were in their own quarters; Dorian was sitting near the balcony doors, reading a letter, as the guard escorted Leto up. Meneris was pacing nearby - evidently they had been in the middle of discussing something, but they broke off and both looked up as the guard cleared his throat, gestured at Leto, then retreated.

Dorian laid the letter down upon his knee. “There, see - not lost after all, _amatus_ ,” he smiled at his husband. “Though I dare say our Skyhold must seem quite unfamiliar given all the changes.”

“Too bad he wasn’t,” Meneris said as he glared at the elf, so like their own Fenris yet unlike him in how he stood there stiffly, head up and gaze over the former Inquisitor’s shoulder. 

“Now, now, _amatus_ ,” chided Dorian quietly. “That was three days ago. The poor sod’s been dropped upon us by sheer mistake and likely feels completely like a fish out of water - much as I did when I first arrived in the south or - I should think - you did when you first left your people and found yourself smack bang in the middle of that whole Temple of Ashes mess. He hasn’t asked for this, any more than you asked to be made Inquisitor. We can be a little more charitable, hmm?”

“I’ll be charitable when he doesn’t damn hear kill you,” Meneris quipped before he looked to this strange elf. 

“What is it you wanted Leto?” he asked. 

The warrior kept his gaze over Meneris’ shoulder and his back stiff as he spoke. He was used to being formal with his Inquisitor, and it was more habit than anything. He didn’t know this elf, and considering that the other man had wanted his head a few days ago, he was being careful. “I came to apologize for hurting Dorian and to beg your pardon if you will have it. If not, I understand and will endeavor to make myself useful while staying out of your way, Inquisitor.”

“I’m no longer the Inquisitor, Meneris is fine,” he sighed and poured them all a glass of wine. “Sit with us and stop standing like you expect to be executed or demoted.” 

“Apology accepted,” said Dorian as he accepted his glass of wine. “I’ve taken no lasting harm, and it didn’t affect my ability to coordinate the portal evacuation of Adamant from this end as planned, so all’s well as far as I’m concerned. Though part of what we were attempting was theoretically possible, we weren’t entirely certain as we hadn’t had any real chance to test it. But it worked, and it was a most worthwhile experiment that gives the College much material to work on - and myself as well. We now know that two mages can actually reach _through_ the Fade from different locations, and one can fold the Fade between the two portals to join them. The Adamant portals were the anchor and the Skyhold portals became simply the other side. It no longer becomes entirely necessary for a mage to have visited somewhere in order to create a portal to another mage - they merely have to open the initial portal gate at their respective locations and then one reaches through to fold the Fade between the two points.” Dorian gave Leto a dazzling smile.

“Interesting theory; a little over my head as all my magical training has been by experience rather than in a Circle, Dorian. I’m glad everyone has returned safely - well… except for the “me” that belongs here of course.” Leto glanced at the mage before resuming his stare over Meneris’s shoulder. He didn’t reach for the wine, and remained at attention.

The Dalish elf sighed and took a seat on their bed so he could get the warrior to relax around them. “Go on and take the drink, it's not poisoned or anything.” Meneris watched him carefully, worried at how formal Leto was being.

As for the warrior he didn’t relax or take the drink, he wasn’t going to until Meneris accepted his apology or told him to go.

“For Mythal’s sake take the damn drink man. I’m not going to attack you, and you standing there like a statue is frankly unnerving,” Meneris said as he topped off his husband’s drink.

“You’re also staring at - or rather, past - the wrong man,” added Dorian a little more acerbically. “The apology was owed to me, as the injured party, not Meneris, after all. And I’ve already told you I accept it. The polite thing at that point is usually to accept the drink, in my experience - and you and I are both of Tevinter so I _know_ this isn’t one of those irritating little misunderstandings between north and south for once, Leto.” He arched an eyebrow at the elf. “Dumat’s sakes, man, you’re making _my_ back ache just looking at you! We never stood on that much formality when we _were_ in the Inquisition; we’re certainly not now! Sit down and drink wine, man! Or must I ask you three times and allow you to ignore me three times and then all move on, all the little rituals appeased, hmm? I may be a magister in Tevinter but I’ll be damned if I’ll have that bullshit thrown in my face in my own home. You’ve not been a slave for a good two decades if you and my _amicus_ are mirrors of one another, so I’m sure you’re no more fond of those rituals than I am and indeed, a good deal less.”

Leto flinched at Dorian’s tone but did as he was asked, and took the wine before sitting near the other mage, slowly drinking. He glanced at the magister then back to his cup, feeling rather rebuked but unsure what to do or say that wouldn’t get him sniped at. He finally gave the other mage a weak smile. “Thank you for accepting my apology.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Dorian as he gestured to the letter on his knee. “I’ve just had yet another letter from one of my oh-so-esteemed colleagues in the Magisterium and I’ve just about had my fill of Tevinter nonsense.” He smiled to take the sting out of his earlier rebuke. “I thought when I fled Tevinter and my father that I had put all that nonsense behind me forever, and now I find myself being buried in tedium and ritual for my sins. Bad enough I have to _read_ about it and know that it’s going to be waiting for me back in Minrathous! And now it looks like that will be rather sooner than I would have liked as well. I’m none too keen on the idea of going back to all that next week.”

“Forgive me for reminding you of that place Dorian. I have not returned and cannot imagine setting foot there even as an agent of the Inquisition were I at home.” Leto sipped his wine and fell quiet, unsure of Meneris’ mood and how sharp he’d been with him when he arrived. 

Dorian snorted slightly. “Fenris couldn’t imagine it either, until he found himself walking back into Tevinter with me and Arden,” he shrugged. “Life is full of strange little happenstances like that - some more happenstance than others, mind you.”

“How could he return there after what he...I...how?” Leto asked in surprise. 

“Because he understands duty that’s how --” Meneris quipped before he was cut off by his husband.

“Because after a lifetime at the feet of stuck-arse slaver magisters he knew that walking back into Tevinter as a free man of consequence in the employ of the Inquisition - and at the side of a high-born altus who treated him as an equal - Fenris _understood_ with a degree of fine nuance far better than many others with the title of Ambassador just exactly what message he would be bringing to the Magisterium - and to the rest of the Imperium,” said Dorian austerely, his voice drowning out his husband’s even as he kept his eyes on Leto. “Just as Anders, in the role of Grand Enchanter of Southern Thedas, made a very deliberate choice in selecting Calpernia as his own envoy - and she still holds that rank even now. The fact that Fenris and Calpernia both got to cock a snoot at their former masters en masse was simply the spice on a particularly hot dish.” Dorian’s smile was almost feral, but there was smouldering anger in the grey eyes that left Leto in no doubt that he’d been in full favour of both appointments.

“Yes, what Dorian said,” Meneris finished with an embarrassed grin. “What do you need from us then? I’m guessing no one has sorted a room out for you or weapons?” 

Dorian rose to his feet and walked over to the balcony door for a moment, staring out at the mountains as he listened to Meneris and Leto talk - the white-haired elf still quiet and taciturn, Meneris still hesitant - doubtless trying to avoid sticking his foot in his mouth any further than he already had. Dorian took a mouthful of wine to calm himself; the discussions over who precisely should be the ambassador and envoy had not been the most peaceful discussion at the time, and about half of Dorian’s current ambassadorial headaches were due to dealing with walking the fine line between representing what the Magisterium _thought_ was in the interests of Tevinter, and what he himself personally thought - and the other half were due to dealing with complaints about Calpernia. 

Whilst the Inquisition had still existed, the united front between himself, Fenris and Calpernia had cowed many of the most verbally objectionable magisters into leaving him alone, but these days since the Inquisition no longer existed, he had found himself in a strange no-man’s-land of jurisdiction - still employed by Tevinter as an ambassador, but dealing with various countries now; a kind of “roving ambassador at large”, as it were, often ordered to deal with the various Colleges and Circles of magi across Thedas but also with the rulers of their respective countries. The problem was that of the Circles that still existed, half still looked to the Chantry whilst the rest were independent - effectively Colleges in all but name, but all run very differently, and none of whom were empowered to give Tevinter anything like the responses the Magisterium hoped for. 

It was clear what they wanted, of course - a backdoor way into taking over new territories from a corrupt Empire that still found it hard to understand that in every country other than Tevinter mages had very little power and certainly none over the lands they lived in. And of the countries themselves, they had their own ambassadors and certainly had no reason to talk to him in any but the most general terms. With Calpernia as the Grand Enchanter’s envoy, Dorian was rather surplus to requirement - or would be if the Magisterium didn’t hate her so much that they’d rather have Dorian sit in an office with her to nod and agree with her and drink wine then tell them what she’d already said. It seemed that no matter where you went, sometimes being born in nobility with the privileges of being a man meant you would still be heard far louder than the one who was actually worth listening to. Dorian viewed his role these days as merely amplifying Calpernia’s voice.

He realised that Leto and Meneris had stopped talking and there was an expectant air in the room. Belatedly he glanced back at them both, and now it was his turn to be embarrassed.

“I’m sorry - I was miles away,” he murmured, and it was entirely the truth. 

“It’s alright, I should probably get going back to Zevran. We...planned to talk. Just talk, after I was done here.” Leto gave them both a respectful nod before rising. “Thank you for seeing me, I’ll return tomorrow to see about quarters and weaponry. Thank you for accepting my apology, as well.”

“I should be able to show you where the best staves are kept; we still have a couple of storerooms here in the keep, but there are several decent staff makers over at the College these days, though not all of them are of equal talent. If you let me know what you need, I can introduce you to the right people,” nodded Dorian.

“Thank you, I’ll seek you out after breakfast. Have a good afternoon.” With that, Leto headed back to Zevran and to think on things. He had a lot to ponder, especially something that Dorian had mentioned but he wasn’t fully paying attention to. 

Zevran had been lightly sleeping, as was clear from the state of his hair; the smile on his face - wistful, and yet welcoming - told him that the elf had heard his footsteps upon the stairs and known who it was. Leto found himself wishing equally wistfully that his own Zevran had ever greeted him with a smile. 

But then even when his Zevran smiled, he had never been able to tell just what his own Antivan was hiding behind his laugh.

**

Dorian read the letter brought to him by one of Zevran’s agents with a frown. “Damn and blast it,” he muttered, and threw it down with a sigh. As Fenris glanced up, the magister gestured at the letter. “Oh, just another missive from Tevinter. I’m required for yet another vote, called for the end of next month. Which means I shall have to leave here in about a week or so because these votes always take such a wretchedly long time - they’re always used as an excuse for further politicking, household alliances, assassination attempts, parties and all the rest of it, and getting there since all the trouble with the Qunari takes even longer these days.” Dorian sat back, poured more wine and scowled.

Fenris poured himself some wine and looked to his _amatus_. “Why do you need to leave in a week? I can take you.” 

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “Because Leto certainly doesn’t have the ability to teleport hither and yon, so it would occasion a lot of pointed questions if I suddenly reappeared in the middle of the Magisterium floor with the Commander of the Inquisition,” he pointed out. “Speaking of said Commander, Zevran’s agent mentioned Josephine was looking for you earlier, so I shouldn’t be too surprised if -”

He got no further as there was a light tap at the door.

“I hadn’t planned to pop up in the middle of the Spire, more like a few miles from the city gates,” Fenris muttered as he got up to answer the door and found Josephine.

“You saved me a trip.” He looked down at the small Antivan woman, unsurprised to find her similar to the Josephine he knew.

“Ah, Commander; just the person I wished to see,” Josephine inclined her head courteously. “The Inquisitor has been talking about our esteemed Spymaster.” She stared up at Fenris with a sombre expression. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you in private about that?”

“Of course, where shall we go, your office or elsewhere?” Fenris asked as he joined her in the hallway. 

She pulled the door of Dorian’s room closed then looked up at him. “We need not go as far as my office, Commander,” she said softly. She stared up at him. “I would appreciate a straight answer, Leto. It has been two days since you went to Zevran in the Rookery for the second time in a day. I must ask. Does Zevran Arainai live? I am asking as an Antivan and as his countrywoman, not in my capacity as Ambassador for the Inquisition.”

“Yes, he lives. I would not...how dare you ask me this?” Fenris queried as he stood straighter and gave her a menacing look. “He is needed, and I am no fool. Do not think I’d kill him.”

“No?” she replied, undaunted. “You have only visited him twice such as this on two previous occasions. Zevran barely lived each time. Can you blame me for asking?” Her look was challenging. “So. He lives. You may wish to deal with the Inquisitor before he reaches the Rookery then, because he seems to be convinced Zevran may either be dead or dying. Possibly others will also be wondering. But I think I am likely the only one who would actually care if he died, which is why only I dare speak to you.”

Fenris glared at her before heading off to the rookery at a fast clip, hopeful to catch Zevran before the demon showed up.

He reached the top of the stairs and heard voices; he felt his heart sink as he recognised the voice of Vengeance as one.

“... your work is unfinished. How long until you will be capable of working?”

“You... you must be patient,” answered the other voice - Zevran. He sounded weak and ill. “My injuries... they will take time to heal. I must rest.”

“Have you taken potions? This is taking too long. We cannot delay!” Fenris could hear the Inquisitor pacing restlessly.

“I have. I need to rest. The sooner you leave me, the sooner I will recover to work. I have not forgotten.” Zevran’s voice was low.

“I shall return in two days,” snapped Vengeance. Fenris heard the footsteps striding swiftly towards the door.

He remained where he was when the door flung open and he was face to face with Vengeance wearing his love’s face. “Inquisitor,” Fenris said coldly.

Vengeance paused and glared at him. “Commander. Come to finish what you started?” he sneered. “Do try to remember he is in _my_ employ, not yours - and the Inquisition needs him _alive_! Find some other toy.” He continued past Fenris and headed on down the stairs. Behind him, the door stood open; Fenris could see the bed, and Zevran reclining against the pillows looking near death.

“Ser, yes ser,” Fenris quipped as he watched the mage hurry away. He shut the door and joined Zevran. “Effective, it fooled that creature at least,” he said sadly.

Zevran opened his eyes and sat up, staring at Fenris. “I knew _he_ would come calling,” he replied. “You? You, I did not expect. But yes, it seems that the demon in Anders’ skin cannot use his powers of healing, and so he can only count upon the evidence of his eyes - and so a few paints and a lifetime of fooling smarter people than the likes of one single-minded demon suffice to persuade him that Zevran Arainai lies near death and must be left alone to heal - well. As near death as I could be expected to be had I drunk copiously of the amount of elfroot and healing potions that I had managed to do so with assistance before Leto returned to me the last time. I had angered him very greatly you see, and a number of his men had died for an error of intelligence which was mine. I have been most assiduous ever since to make sure all my intelligence is impeccable however.” He threw back the covers and rose from the bed; he was clad only in his leather pants and wearing several bandages. He fingered the rather convincing bruise upon his cheek. “Fetching, no?” he grinned.

“No, nothing about you looking battered is fetching,” Fenris snapped before he caught himself. “Josephine came and asked if I had killed you.”

The smile died upon Zevran’s lips and he glanced away. “You reassured her, I trust?” he asked softly.

“I believe I did, and I dashed here when she mentioned the demon was coming to check on you.” Fenris poured himself wine before starting to pace around the room. “Tell me, when Leto discovered his...magic, what happened? What should I avoid doing or saying if I must continue this charade?” 

Zevran had gone still as Fenris began pacing. “It was lightning, at first,” he said softly. “It is what he reached for instinctively. What he still reaches for first, before any other form of attack. Although he can heal, it is without finesse, and he still relies instinctively upon potions and poultices - and when upset, he finds it hard to still his mind enough to reach the right level of concentration to heal. Or often he forgets himself and has expended too much mana upon attacking to heal.” He shrugged slightly. “Fire is next after lightning. He has struggled with ice. He does not bother with glyphs; he has never had time to master them properly.” 

“Interesting, I have not had an inkling of lightning coming to me - as you saw, fire was my first response, then ice. Who helped him train then? I can’t imagine it was Vengeance. If I seem to need re-training, that will arouse suspicion.” Fenris sipped and paced as he waited for Zevran to continue. 

Zevran’s eyes followed him as he paced but otherwise the Antivan remained still. “Dorian taught him. It was a... frustrating experience all round, I believe. Though,” Zevran’s lips quirked briefly into a crooked grin, “I assisted him with target practice. He is very good now with lightning and he had improved a little recently with ice. And healing.” He lowered his eyes as the smile disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared. 

“He wields his staff as a two-handed sword; he uses it as much as he uses his magic. Often he will begin with magic at a distance then close to melee. If ambushed he will often react with lightning then close with his powers to use his staff. Of course, when close enough to do so he still prefers to rip hearts still beating from his opponent’s chests. The magical fisting thing he does is a very useful technique for interrogation too, of course. Or chastisement.”

“Has he ever...you know... done that to you?” Fenris whispered.

Zevran reached up to brush a hand slowly over his chest, not lifting his eyes to meet Fenris’ stare. “Once,” he whispered. “It was... enough. I... yes. I never wish to feel it again.”

“I’m going to kill him if I ever meet him, no questions - I’m just going to end him,” Fenris said as he refilled his wine and stared at Zevran. “I should probably go so people don’t think I’ve killed you after my visit. If you wish, I will return tomorrow and spend time getting to know you, if you’ll allow it.” 

Zevran lifted his eyes and gave Fenris a gentle smile. “Ah, they will not fear for me after this visit; this would be when he would come to me to apologise and heal me. He does not mean things to go so far, you see. And he is always so gentle and careful with me whilst I am healing. He does not wish me to become crippled, after all. The Inquisitor will have no use for a crippled Spymaster; that would almost be worse than a dead one. I have many stairs I must run up and down you understand; from the lowest dungeon up to my airy domain here. I would be useless to Vengeance if I could not do that - and then Vengeance might decide I am too much trouble and kill me himself. Leto protects me from him, and I in turn have my ways of protecting Leto.” He took a step towards Fenris. “And now I must protect both you and myself, because there is only one other person in this fortress who cares about me, and she cannot protect me.”

“This is the void, it truly is,” Fenris said as he put the wine in Zevran’s hands. “I’ll be back later, or tomorrow. I should find where my rooms are and talk to Dorian. May I return later?” 

“You may,” answered Zevran. “Please lock the door behind you? I would rather not be disturbed by anyone else today.” He turned to stare at the fire, his expression pensive. “I have left a key for you upon my desk. Leto had his own,” he added absently, then sipped the wine slowly.

The warrior took the key on his way out and returned to Dorian, his mind troubled as he went. He slipped in and sat on the bed, glancing uneasily at the mage as he pondered what Zevran had told him.

“Is all well, _amatus_?” asked Dorian as he paused in the act of applying kohl; in Fenris’ absence he had dressed and neatened his hair.

The elf shrugged as he watched Dorian from where he’d settled in bed. “This place ...feels evil Dorian. It's so, so wrong.” Fenris shuddered as he thought back on his conversations with Zevran.

Dorian laid down the kohl stick and regarded Fenris sombrely in the mirror. “So you’ve felt it as well, then?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, it’s …. Wrong here, so wrong. That’s the best way to describe it.” Fenris had put his arms around his knees and rested his head so he could watch the other man. “I feel unclean.” 

Dorian turned to face Fenris. “Yes, it is,” he nodded. “And it’s been steadily getting worse, the more that the Inquisitor has become paranoid and unstable. He was never that stable to begin with but since that whole business with Solas and his arm... it’s gotten worse. And it seems to have something to do with Zevran, though I’m not sure how. He is the Inquisitor’s left hand; Josie and I have surmised for some time now that Spymaster is the least of Zevran’s duties. I have tried to talk to Leto about it but... well, it’s all caught up in their relationship somewhere, and Leto made it clear that whatever happens between them in that regard is strictly their business and I didn’t want to interfere.” He glanced aside for a moment. “Perhaps I should have done,” he mused quietly. “But he always seems... quieter, gentler, after he returns from spending the night in the Rookery. So I kept silent. Perhaps I erred in that.”

Fenris stared at him for a bit before getting up and pouring them both a very full glass of whiskey. He took a seat, and half the glass down before revealing all that Zevran had told him, including how he allowed Leto to use him to take his aggression out to spare Dorian. The elf had finished his drink before his story, and had risen for a refill to let Dorian take in what he’d said.

“Leto is abusing you both, Zevran wouldn’t hear me but I know too well what it's like to have been in his place. He…he tried to...he....” Fenris fell quiet, unable to finish telling Dorian of how the other elf had tried to seduce him as if he was fearful that Fenris was tricking him.

Dorian had stared in perplexment at the rather full tumbler of whiskey before looking up at Fenris; as the elf’s words had sunk in, he had lowered his eyes to the glass and a nauseous expression crossed his face. At mention that Leto had gone to Zevran to spare _him_ , he set aside the glass and buried his face in his hands. He was still for some moments after Fenris had finished, then slowly straightened and reached for his glass. He downed it steadily then rose to his feet.

“I need to speak to Zevran,” he said quietly.

“He’s going to be furious that I told you; do you wish me to come with you?” Fenris asked. 

“I had had my suspicions for some time, but I wish I had been wrong. And that I had had the courage to ask,” replied Dorian. “Do you think he will feel safer with you present?”

“It’s not his safety I was thinking of, I’m worried he’ll be angry and hurt you,” Fenris admitted as he set aside the drink and took up Leto’s staff. “You said I don’t like being without it, right?” 

Dorian nodded. “Leto keeps it within arm’s reach at all times, much as he did with his sword before discovering his magic.” He glanced down at his nails for a moment. “I shan’t deny that Zevran frankly scares the living daylights out of me, but then that’s hardly a secret to anyone. He scares the living daylights out of _everyone_ except the Inquisitor... and Leto. He does seem to inspire the most fantastic loyalty in his own agents however. He keeps his door locked to all save them - and Leto.”

“I see...well he did give me a key but I think I’ll knock since I have you with me.” Fenris gave Dorian an odd look, like he wanted to say something else but decided against it. “Come on, let’s get this done and then I am going to get very, very drunk.” 

Dorian frowned slightly at Fenris’ slight hesitation, but didn’t press, instead nodding and turning to lead the way out through the library and then to the door that led up to the Rookery. He paused to knock at the door then frowned as the door swung open slightly. He glanced to Fenris with a look of slight alarm, but before either could say anything they heard a very faint gasp and the sound of skin slapping on skin.

Fenris halted as he saw the Antivan getting thoroughly shagged by someone in dark clothes, longish hair and from the grunts he could hear, whoever he was with was putting some effort into their strokes. He turned to Dorian in question, since he didn’t think the spymaster had others calling on him like that.

Zevran was slumped over his desk, one arm hanging limply over the edge, face turned towards the door but his eyes were glazed, staring at nothing. His body jerked with each thrust; the man behind him had one hand snarled in the pale gold hair. 

Dorian was staring, horrified; it was clear that the scene before them had come as a surprise to him too. Before either of them could move or say anything, the dark-haired man gave a grunt and shuddered before pulling away and tugging his pants back up. He stepped back and slapped Zevran hard on the Antivan’s bare arse; even from here, what Fenris could see of the other elf’s thighs was red and there were bruises forming upon his hips. 

“Good doing business with you as always, Arainai,” chuckled the man darkly. “I’ll see your orders are carried out. Glad the Commander didn’t leave you _too_ fucked out. Consider payment accepted in full.”

Zevran moaned faintly, then slipped slowly to the floor to collapse at the man’s feet.

“Don’t worry; I’ll see myself out as usual,” observed the man before turning and coming to a halt as he realised they were not alone.

“How _dare_ you!” hissed Dorian as he finally found his tongue; as he stepped forward, lightning danced over his hands. “How _dare_ you, you filthy dog!”

Fenris lit his brands and let his hand sink into the man’s chest, his expression utterly blank as he twisted his hand and made him suffer. “There will be no more payments like this, am I clear?”

Zevran had managed to lift his head and stared over at them. “Leto... no....” he managed weakly before he slumped to the floor.

“ _Venhedis!_ ” exclaimed Dorian and shook the lightning from his fingers as he ran to the Antivan’s side and knelt down beside him.

The dark-haired man was gurgling in pain, scarcely able to breathe as he trembled, unable to move for the agony he was in. Fenris could feel the man’s heart fluttering like a frightened bird in a cage beneath his fingers.

“Leave and do not return or you will die here, after I let Zevran play with you for my amusement.” Fenris gave one last squeeze before withdrawing his hand shoving the man at the door. “You can crawl or I can throw you down the stairs; pick one.” 

The man was gasping for breath but managed to make it to the door on unsteady feet. He clutched at the door frame then turned to glare at Zevran over his shoulder. “This wasn't part of the deal, Arainai! The others will learn of this!” He glanced back to Fenris then turned away to head down the stairs.

Fenris ran down to catch him before he could start spreading rumors, and undermining whatever arrangement the elf had with him. He threw the man at Dorian’s feet, and smiled while locking the door. 

“I think we ought to teach him a lesson about telling tales on our spymaster; after all, who would believe this cur if he did try to start a rumor about taking our Crow like a willing whore in exchange for silence, hmm? What do you say, Dorian?” 

Dorian had assisted Zevran back to his feet, the Antivan’s arm slung about his shoulders; at Fenris’ words, Zevran lifted his head to stare at him.

“It is not for his silence,” the spymaster said quietly. “It is for his loyalty. But now the price I have paid will not be enough.” He shook off Dorian and turned to his desk, reaching for one of his long fighting knives.

The man had pushed himself up onto his knees; as Zevran turned back to face him with the knife in his hand, the Crow’s face had become a blank mask, eery and unnerving.

“Master - no, I swear, I will say nothing!” the man began to babble. “I swear, I will be silent! I - I take it back, I won’t breathe a word!”

“You are correct,” said Zevran softly, his voice flat and without affect. “You will not.”

“Please - I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” cried the man, shuffling backwards on his knees as Zevran advanced towards him.

The blade flashed in a movement almost too swift for the eye to follow, and then the man collapsed to the floor, clutching his throat as blood ran hot and wet over his hands. Zevran lowered the knife as the man gurgled and kicked in his death throes at his feet.

“Apology accepted,” said Zevran in that same soft whisper before he turned and walked back to the desk as Dorian watched in shocked silence.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demon in Anders' skin makes a threat against Zevran, forcing Fenris' hand. He learns to master more of his magic.

Zevran reached for a cloth and calmly began to clean the blood from his blade, unheeding of the man’s come which was slowly trickling down the back of his thigh, as warm and wet as the man’s blood that now pooled beneath the corpse.

Fenris busied himself with warming water and finding soap and a towel to clean up Zevran while he nodded at the remainder of brandy he spotted. “Be a good man and pour us all a drink, would you Dorian?” 

Fenris approached Zevran carefully, gaze on his blades. “Allow me to clean you up?”

Zevran laid down the knife, his head bowed for a moment, then he leaned forward upon the desk and spread his legs a little before nodding. Dorian was looking for glasses as he tried to ignore the cooling body of the man upon the floor.

“I’ll take care of the body, unless you prefer to do so,” Fenris offered as he cleaned Zevran gently, even taking care not to be too rough when taking care of him internally. He got the other elf’s pants and laid them in reach. 

“We came to talk to you, and didn’t expect that,” Fenris said as he found the glasses Dorian was looking for.

Zevran slowly limped over to his potions box and pulled out a couple of flasks. He downed them both, one after the other, then turned back to face them. “Leto did not know of this... arrangement,” he said quietly. He glanced to Dorian and gave him a wry smile. “I am afraid that when I said I am no man’s whore, I was entirely lying to you. I have many ways of ensuring the loyalty of my men, and sometimes the price required is the use of my body. I do what I must, for the good of the Inquisition.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” breathed Dorian. “Is this what the Inquisitor requires of you? This is beyond the depravity I -”

“It is not,” said Zevran sharply. “These men are _my_ agents. What passes between me and them is none of his concern! He cares nothing for how I get my results - only that I get them. And I have the loyalty of my people. That is all that matters.”

“No...this isn’t right Zevran! Between Leto, that demon and now this? You’re not...you keep giving parts of yourself away, and for what? For what, Zev...this has to end, you can’t let them use you, any of them anymore. Why are you doing this to yourself, why? Is it this evil place, is it because Leto hurts you? Mythal, why….” Fenris asked as he just looked at the blond in horror.

Zevran stared at him bleakly, then his eyes darted to Dorian before returning to the taller elf. “Because I wish to live, and I will do what I must in order to survive,” he whispered. “I have no magic, and many enemies. But you are right. There is a sickness in this place, and if you only knew what I have seen and done....” He turned away and put a hand to his head. “This place is diseased, and I am as tainted as all the rest of it. I am a part of its very sickness; sometimes I think I will drown in it. It will be the death of me and yet I cannot escape it, because whilst my death may lie between these walls, it is a slower death than I would face alone outside them.”

He turned back to face them with a sad smile. “I told you I was a coward,” he shrugged. “Perhaps it would have been better if I had never returned here after Corypheus was defeated. Likely I would be dead, but then perhaps there would have been less evil in this place.”

Dorian stared at the Antivan, his eyes filled with a mixture of horror and sympathy.

“You poor bastard,” he muttered. “What have they done to you? Leto, and the Inquisitor - what did they do, to make you into this?”

“I’m murdering Leto on sight if I ever meet him again,” Fenris said before finishing up his drink and looking at the body. “How out of place would it be if I were seen carrying a corpse to feed to wild animals outside the fortress gate?” 

Zevran made his way back to the desk and lowered himself to his chair with a faint stifled groan before he reached for his own glass of brandy. “Do not trouble yourself,” he replied, gesturing to the corpse. “It would not be the first time I have had to have a body removed from my rooms. The guards know how I deal with traitors; they will merely assume I have uncovered another. I shall not trouble to correct them - and it will do no harm to my reputation when they whisper that even barely three days after being almost upon my deathbed I could slay a man armed only with a single blade.” He grinned mirthlessly. “I have woven an empire built upon lies, half-truths and fear much as the Inquisitor has. And now you see why they say that Zevran Arainai has no soul. He has traded it and himself long ago.” He raised his glass in a silent toast then drank.

“Very well, have this body disposed of and then we are going back to Dorian’s rooms to talk. They may wonder why I would take you both to bed at once, but you will not be alone tonight and I will not argue about it.” Fenris gave them both a stern look before pouring himself another drink. 

“I’ll go find a guard,” said Dorian as he set his own glass down then headed towards the door, skirting around the dead body and the pool of cooling blood.

Zevran finished his glass then set it down as he leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said softly. “You told Dorian then.” He was staring at the fire in the grate, not glancing at Fenris as he spoke.

“Yes, if you wish to be angry and take it out on someone, I’m right here. You will not lay a hand on Dorian in retribution for me speaking of what you have suffered.” Fenris took another sip before reaching over and tilting Zevran’s face so the Antivan had to face him. “In my world, I love you so much - so, so much - and this is breaking my heart. I care deeply for Dorian as well and I would not see either of you abused as you are in this world. I spoke out of fear for you, and concern - but if you are angry, so be it.” 

Zevran stared back at him, not pulling away though his hands had tightened upon the arm rests of his chair at Fenris’ touch, eyes widening a little. “You... love him? And... you would not lift a hand against him?” He gave Fenris a lopsided smile as he lifted a hand to touch the bandage about his throat. “And yet you stabbed me. Though I cannot fault you for that; I did goad you, no? As I goad Leto. It is no surprise that he treats me the way he does, truly. I bring out the worst in him, I think.” 

“I have lifted a hand against him, and I have hated myself when my control slipped. He didn’t even goad me to do it, my temper needs work. It's why I’m so horrified at what Leto has done to you, both of you. Forgive my anger, and attacking you; it...frightened me afterward. I’m barely keeping it together as it is, but this is more important than me going to pieces. Can’t pretend if I’m in a corner sobbing right?” Fenris dropped his hold and looked to the other elf. “We have to kill him.”

Zevran went very still. “You... would slay him? You would expect me to lift my hand against him?” His face had gone blank.

“If you won’t, I will,” Fenris said but noted how the Antivan’s expression had changed. “Wait, who do you think I’m speaking of?” 

“Leto,” whispered Zevran. “Who else? I have seen your anger grow when you have learned what has passed between us, even when I have only told the truth - that I have allowed him to do this, even goaded him into it. I have lied in all things but not that. And I tell you truly that if I tried to raise a hand against him then I would surely die.”

“I haven’t decided if I will kill him, I was speaking of the Inquisitor here. That demon is making things worse here, and it’s killing you. As for Leto, much as I want to murder him for what he’s done, I will take your feelings into consideration should I see him again,” Fenris replied. 

Zevran looked away towards the fire. “The Inquisitor... yes. His care for me only extends as far as whether or not I can continue to kill for him. That was why he came here. If he thought I was no further use to him, he would have killed me in this very room. I am not entirely sure I could have taken him down with me, though I would have tried. It would not make up for the evils I have done in his name, but... well.” He glanced back to Fenris. “If you wish me to join you in Dorian’s room, I think it only fair to warn you that I am a restless sleeper.” His eyes flicked up to the doorway as Dorian returned; two guards followed behind, carrying a large sack. 

He pushed himself upright, leaning heavily against the desk. Even though Fenris knew the elf were putting on an act, he could easily have believed that Zevran were forcing himself upright in spite of grievous wounds that were barely half-healed, and that he were perhaps a handful of heartbeats away from collapsing.

“A traitor. Remove him,” he snarled out harshly, glaring at the two men.

“At once, ser,” they nodded, and swiftly worked to wrap up the body before hefting it between them and moving back towards the doorway. As one of the men glanced back towards him, Zevran’s eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor.

Fenris dashed forward to catch him and keep him from hurting himself for real. He snarled at the guards to go about their business, as the Spymaster was his. Once they were gone, he picked up the Antivan and held him close. “You deserve an award for that performance, Arainai.”

Zevran merely smiled and attempted to pull away; he held still when he felt how strong Fenris’ arms were and then a slightly rueful expression crossed his face. “Of course; you are physically him,” he murmured to himself. He glanced up at Fenris. “You appear to have my complete attention; what do you intend to do with it?” He arched an eyebrow.

Dorian had closed the door behind the guards and pulled a face at the smear of blood left upon the floor before glancing up at them. “My word, Arainai - I would have seriously believed you at the limit of your endurance there.”

“Quiet until we’re in his rooms, keep feigning being weak,” Fenris whispered in Antivan as they walked back to the magister’s rooms, even keeping hold of the elf as he waited for the door to be locked and secured. 

“Will it draw the demon’s attention if you use a silence spell?” he asked as he sat on the bed, still holding Zevran. The Antivan glanced down at the arms still holding him with an amused look but said nothing.

“Unlikely, though when it becomes known that we’ve brought Zevran back here he may take rather more interest,” replied Dorian before casting a silence spell with a casual flick of his wrist. He glanced to Zevran. “Dumat only knows what he will assume we’re doing to you in your... ah... condition.”

“Why, dear Dorian, whatever did you have in mind?” purred Zevran. “I can assure you I am quite flexible as to your choices. After all, I am quite at the Commander’s mercy, no?” He glanced up at Fenris. “Though two mages? Interesting. That suggests many possibilities.”

“You said Leto can be brutal, but perhaps we’ll explain it as him needing help from another mage, or just concern he went too far with his toy,” Fenris said in disgust at having said that. He kept hold of the other elf, hand carding through the blond hair as he tried to center himself. 

Zevran closed his eyes at the touch of Fenris’ hand in his hair. “It is likely that the Inquisitor will think me too weak to do anything in any case,” he breathed. “When the guards report what they have witnessed, he will assume you have brought me here to keep an eye on me - Leto has always been protective of me when someone _else_ has threatened me.”

“Jealous, you mean,” said Dorian darkly. “Can’t bear the thought that someone else might damage his plaything.” He was producing glasses and pondering the bottles in his drinks cabinet.

Zevran opened his eyes at Dorian’s words and regarded him with narrowed eyes. “A plaything, am I?” he said softly. “Have a care, _dear_ Dorian, that I do not take unkindly to your words. You are not Leto; I do not fear _you_!” Upon his last word he suddenly surged to his feet, succeeding in breaking Fenris’ grip upon him through surprise. He pulled a throwing knife from seemingly out of nowhere and drew his hand back to throw. 

Fenris grabbed his wrist and held him back. “I do not fear you either, we have had enough bloodshed in this room I think.” The warrior tugged Zevran back towards the bed, careful of the knife until he made Zevran drop it. 

“Dorian, pick your words carefully. I’ve already caused problems and I know you don’t like what I revealed; but we have to work together if we’re going to pull off this charade and take out the demon here. I need you both to understand I am on edge and only thanks to years of training and masking my emotions that I can keep it together. We need each other, do you understand?” Fenris asked.

Zevran was staring at the floor, straining slightly against Fenris’ grasp - not out of any real sense of struggling to escape the stronger elf’s grip but as though it were second nature against restraint. “Very well,” said Zevran softly. “I shall hold my tongue if Dorian will agree to hold his.”

“Agreed,” said Dorian tersely.

“So... we are to maintain the deception that I am injured and that Leto has brought me here to keep an eye on me in case there are further conspirators that worked with the traitor, hmm?” said Zevran after a moment.

“You don’t have to hold your tongues, just think before you say something that can harm is all I’m asking. I know it’s a lot, but its all I’m asking for the moment.” Fenris let the other elf go and sat heavily on the bed and covered his face with his hands as he tried to collect himself. 

Zevran stumbled slightly, a little off balance as Fenris released him, then bent to retrieve his knife, tucking it back into the hidden sheath in the waistband of his pants. “Then I must ask you both to bear in mind that it is in my nature to goad. I do not necessarily mean anything by it but after so long, it has become habit. I shall try to rein in my mouth before it gets me killed by one or both of you, eh?” He ran a hand through his hair slowly then glanced up at Dorian.

“If you should have some good brandy there, Dorian, then I think I would rather like a glass,” he added softly. “I did not sleep well last night and this has been a most trying day.”

Wordlessly Dorian handed him the bottle before pouring whiskey for Fenris, contenting himself with wine.

The warrior didn’t take the drink, he just sat there with a hand over his face breathing slowly until he could center himself. He’d had the bright idea of having them all talk but hadn’t expected to see a murder and assault before the day was up. His eyes were closed and he was just listening to them for the moment.

Zevran accepted the brandy then glanced around before taking a seat in the window, bracing his foot against the window frame as he glanced briefly down at the courtyard below before turning his head to watch Dorian as the magister set Fenris’ drink down on the bedside table nearest the elf before returning to the dressing table. Taking a sip of wine as he sat, Dorian took up the kohl stick once more.

“So,” said Dorian quietly after a moment. “Seeing as no-one can overhear us thanks to my little spell, and we’re all in this room together, shall we talk then?”

Zevran made to speak then hesitated before instead taking a long pull from the bottle of brandy.

“Fine, you two speak,” Fenris finally said before draining half his whiskey in one go. 

Dorian laid down the kohl then glanced over at Zevran. “You’re not going to like this,” he said quietly.

“Then let me spare you the words,” said Zevran flatly, not looking at either man. “Yes, it is true. I allowed Leto to do as he wished to me and to spend his anger upon me so that he would not inflict it upon you. I goaded him when necessary so that he would get angry with me instead. I knew that no matter how much he hurt me, I could bear the pain - and after all, he could heal me afterwards. I accepted it. It was in part the nature of our agreement. Things would anger him - many, many things. Things that were not your fault - and he loves you. It would not be right for him to hurt someone he loves. So. When he is angry, he comes to me. And I consent for him to use me so that he does not take it out on you.”

He finally looked at Dorian. “You see, I care for him too. It is not good for a man to carry such anger inside; it festers and harms him. Do not think I bled for _you_ , Dorian. I had my own reasons.”

Dorian swallowed hard. “That - Zevran, that is - how am I supposed to handle that?” he exclaimed, horrified. “That’s... Dumat, that’s little better than how one slave in Tevinter might draw their master’s anger upon themselves to spare another! You’re no slave!” 

“He is in all but name, Dorian. Believe me, I would know,” Fenris chimed in from where he’d stretched out on the bed. “I know too well the ways in which a slave would charm and beguile a feared master to avoid a lashing or worse. Do you understand now why I felt compelled to speak to you of this? Leto is bad for both of you, though you both love him...I cannot in good conscience let this go on regardless of how long I am here, and he is in my world. Hope that he has not tried to use my Zevran or Dorian in the manner he is accustomed to, else he will find a swift end at someone’s hand before we can find our way home.” He stared both of them down as he waited for one or both men to get angry with him.

Zevran was staring at Fenris; as the white-haired elf spoke, a subtle change came over the Crow’s face, as though some truth had dawned upon him. He lifted a hand unthinkingly, letting it drift towards his chest, then he dropped his eyes to his hand before looking up at Fenris. “You... must have been laughing at me,” he whispered, his expression bleak. “You knew what I was doing.” He glanced aside, disconcerted.

Dorian darted him a quizzical look before turning to Fenris. “But I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “Both you and Leto were slaves in Tevinter. Why would he seek to put anyone in that position himself? I mean... deplorable though it might seem, I _suppose_ I could understand why it might amuse him to do it to me - I _am_ , after all, a magister now. But why Zevran? And why at all, if he cares anything for one or both of us?”

“Because people will do strange things for love,” said Zevran, a little wistfully. “And some men will take advantage of that to get what they want. Sometimes the price of keeping a loved one safe is to harm another.”

Fenris wiped a tear away as he gave Zevran his full attention. “I was not laughing, believe me; my heart broke when I realized what you were doing. Did you not see me crying, feel it as well? That hurt so much, and I had a moment where I wanted to burn down everything and everyone who ever hurt you to see you like that.” He rose to his feet and reached for the bottle the Antivan was holding; a glassful of whiskey wasn’t enough after that.

Zevran stared up at Fenris as the taller elf loomed over him where he sat in the window, and without thinking he cradled the bottle of brandy closer to himself.

“ _Amatus_ , let him have the brandy,” said Dorian as he picked up the bottle of whiskey and held it out to Fenris. “After what we walked in on, I think he needs it.” He glanced to Zevran. “I cannot believe that you consented to be treated like _that_ , even if you _were_ willing to consider whoring yourself to be an acceptable price of payment to keep a man loyal to you.”

Zevran glared at him then turned away, taking a long pull from the bottle of brandy.

“You say that like I don’t need a damned drink myself,” Fenris snapped. He sipped at what remained of the whiskey he had left as he returned to the bed; he stretched out upon it once more. “I wish one of you could just get me out of my head like I did for you. I hate how I’m feeling right now.” 

“I have never felt less like sex in my whole life after what I’ve seen and heard today,” replied Dorian.

“For once, we are in agreement,” replied Zevran, without looking around. “And I was the one on the receiving end both of what you saw and heard.” He glanced at Fenris. “And you already know that I am incapable of lifting a hand against you in that way. And you know why.” He glanced away again. “You cannot ask such a thing of me,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, threading the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle slowly into his hair before gripping it.

“Zevran,” said Dorian gently. “No-one in this room would expect that of you. Nor will they ask it. Fenris was merely expressing a thought aloud; that does not mean either of us is expected to act upon it. Least of all you.”

Zevran’s head turned slowly, enough to glare at Dorian from one reddened eye. “I neither want nor need your pity, Pavus,” he growled softly.

“You’re angry,” said Dorian with a small shrug. “And understandably so. But you’re mistaken if you think I pity you, Arainai. Frankly you still scare me half to death. But I was offering a truth. No more and no less than that.” 

“I wasn’t asking either of you for something no one wants or can give. I was just ...never mind,” Fenris said shakily before setting the bottle aside and rolling over to turn his back to them. “Don’t kill each other, just let me alone since I know I can’t have what I desire right now.” He didn’t bother with undressing aside from kicking his boots off and his tunic. 

“Zevran, technically you’re supposed to be ill and barely conscious,” remarked Dorian after one brief half-hearted glare at Fenris’ back. “I suggest that you take the bed with Leto. I shall content myself with my perfectly adequate couch over there tonight. You... probably ought to move to the bed in case anyone knocks at the door. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see you lounging around the room drinking brandy, really.”

Zevran glanced at him, then looked over at the bed, before shrugging. He took another pull from the bottle then frowned at it. “Hmm. I appear to have drunk all your brandy,” he remarked. He shrugged, then got to his feet and stretched. “Very well,” he replied. “There is something to what you say.” He set the empty bottle down on the end of Dorian’s dressing table then made his way over to the bed. He sat down and ran his hands slowly through his hair before he turned and slipped between the covers to lie back against the pillows. He tugged a little at the covers where they were trapped beneath Fenris, then shrugged and gave it up as pointless.

Dorian frowned at the bottle, then shook his head and turned back to his reflection to finally finish applying his kohl. In the reflection in the mirror he could see the Antivan had closed his eyes, looking exhausted.

Fenris sat up enough to let Zevran have some covers before turning to his stomach and pulling a pillow over his head so they wouldn’t have to hear him if he lost his calm. 

“Fenris, if someone comes looking for you, they would be rather taken aback to find you stealing the other half of my bed when it isn’t even noon yet,” said Dorian, a little tartly. “That would occasion gossip almost as much as the very idea of the three of us sharing a bed would.” He was pouring himself another glass of wine as he tapped a forefinger against his chin thoughtfully. An idea had suddenly occurred to him, and he glanced around for writing materials. Taking his wine with him, he rose and moved towards his desk where he sat and drew sheafs of paper to himself. Taking up his quill, he began scratching out equations and notes.

The elf pulled the pillow off his head and glared at Dorian. “Are you really picking a fight with me, after the way the day started?” Fenris asked.

Dorian halted and froze. “No,” he said softly. “No, I - no, I was just - pointing out....” His stammer tailed off and he glanced aside from his notes to stare at the floor. “I wouldn’t fight with you,” he finally managed.

“Dorian,” said Zevran softly without opening his eyes. “This is not Leto. And even if it were, _you_ would have nothing to fear from his anger.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Zevran,” replied the magister. “Their voices are identical however, and now I am all too aware that on each occasion in which Leto and I disagreed, _you_ were the one who paid for it. I had enough of that in Tevinter. I won’t stand for it here.”

“Not... quite identical,” corrected Zevran. “But I will concede they are very close.”

Instead of arguing, Fenris got up and tugged on his tunic, then his boots. He wasn’t going to fall into a circular argument or shouting match. “I’m going to find my office and see what needs to be done, it’s still early and I should probably be seen working. I’ll see you both later.” 

Zevran opened his eyes, then glanced to Dorian. “You should drop your silence spell,” he suggested. “I am, after all, supposed to be resting, and with Leto out of your room and I supposedly asleep you would have no reason to keep it up.”

“You’re right,” nodded Dorian. “I suppose we should prepare ourselves for His Royal High Vengefulness turning up to inspect you for himself again however, the moment Leto is gone.”

“Then I shall be suitably unconscious and you will hint to him heavily that Leto would be displeased if I were further disturbed,” shrugged Zevran as he closed his eyes once more.

Fenris grabbed his staff and headed for what would normally be Cullen’s office but was his, he’d hoped. He also hoped that it was unlocked or that someone would have a key. He put on a haughty expression as he walked, glad it kept people from speaking to him. He found the door open but guarded, which he was grateful for. Once the door was closed, he spotted a pile of documents and a few missives sat on his chair so he wouldn’t miss them.

“Time to get to work Leto, hopefully you don’t fuck this up,” Fenris said to himself as he started to go through reports.

It was some time later that there came a knock upon his door, and then one of the guards opened the door to admit a messenger who handed him a folded piece of paper. As Fenris unfolded it, he found it was a note in Dorian’s graceful script - written in Tevene. There were few words:

_Inquisitor came. V. angry. Left when Z. unresponsive. Likely to return. - DP_

“Will there be a reply, ser?” asked the messenger.

Fenris bit back a sigh and wrote a quick reply.

 _Will return shortly, request lunch. Will deal with Inquisitor when he returns. ~ L_

He folded the note and waved the messenger off. 

He rose to his feet, gathering up a small bundle of reports. “I’ll be in Pavus’ quarters working for the remainder of the day if anyone else needs me,” he remarked to the guard.

The guard gave a gruff “Understood,” and resumed what she was doing.

He arrived back at Dorian’s quarters to find Dorian himself pacing and looking decidedly frazzled. Zevran still lay in his bed, eyes closed, as though he hadn’t moved the entire time Fenris had been gone. The magister slowed his pacing then halted and gave a thankful sigh.

“Thank Dumat you’re here,” he exclaimed quietly. “I seriously thought the Inquisitor was going to murder Zevran where he lay. I had to point out that you don’t take kindly to your toys being played with by others before he would finally back off and leave us both alone. He’s in a towering fury however.” He glanced at Zevran, then hastily threw up the silence spell once more.

“Then I think it’s time Leto has a word with Vengeance. Where does he keep his armor?” Fenris asked with a terrible grin. 

“It’s here,” replied Dorian as he moved to the corner and tugged a curtain aside to show the set of armour on a stand in a niche. “I had it cleaned and repaired whilst you slept, that first day back from Adamant. It was in a terrible state, as was to be expected. The seamstress had to make a new mantle of course - but then Zevran had been most assiduous in gathering the feathers cast off from his birds for the ruff, so that it was all made new very swiftly.” He glanced over at the Crow as he spoke, then glanced back to the armour and the feathered mantle.

“I’m going to look like a damned bird with this on,” Fenris muttered as he started to put on the unfamiliar gear. “Do either of you ever help Leto with this?” he asked as he struggled with the chest plate.

“Only out of it, I’m afraid,” shrugged Dorian. “Though -” He glanced back at Zevran and frowned before leaning closer to Fenris. “Zevran hasn’t moved since Vengeance arrived earlier,” he murmured. “I am concerned. He may be merely sleeping, but... well.” He sighed. “I think he may know how this armour should be worn, but - perhaps he will respond better to you waking him than he would for me?”

“Is he actually asleep?” Fenris asked as he finally got the buckles closed on one side. “How can he sleep through us talking?”

“He drank the whole bottle of brandy,” replied Dorian heavily. “But Vengeance trying to choke him probably didn’t help. I told you - I truly thought Vengeance was going to kill him. He’s breathing, so obviously he’s not dead - but beyond that all I know is that he hasn’t moved and I’m too damned afraid of getting a knife somewhere vital to try waking him.”

“Tried to choke him… alright, let him sleep. If he doesn’t move while I’m gone then try a rejuvenate after I’m back.” Fenris took longer than he’d like but he finally got the armor on with the damned mantle over the top, just as Cullen had worn it.

“I look like a damned crow, not a Commander. Feathers are not my thing at all but I guess there’s a reason Leto wore this stupid ruff instead of fur.” He grabbed his staff and turned for inspection. “Will I pass?” 

“That depends; do you think you could call up lightning?” asked Dorian with a frown. 

“I...don’t know. How would I do that? I reached for fire first, not lightning,” Fenris replied. “Maybe I shouldn’t go charging up there if I can’t do this.” 

“Give me your hand,” ordered Dorian as he held out his own, palm uppermost. As Fenris hesitantly held his own hand out, Dorian took it and turned it so it was palm uppermost then rested his own hand beneath it. “I am going to draw on my own mana. Close your eyes and feel the energy. Now. Do you feel that? The nature of my mana? I’m forming the lightning but not releasing it - do you feel the energy of the mana?” 

“I do.” Fenris kept his eyes closed and let Dorian guide him. “It feels strange.”

“How so?” inquired Dorian. “Compared to the energy when you called fire or ice, perhaps?” 

“That and just feeling magic in... under my skin. It's strange and I don’t like it,” Fenris admitted. “I’m sorry...this is still new for me.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Dorian. “I’m afraid I have no direct comparable experience, but Leto found it hard to deal with at first as well. However, be that as it may, the magic is there and once released I’m afraid you have to learn to control it. And you can only do that by using it.” His eyes met those of Fenris briefly, then dropped back to their hands. “Now. I’m going to draw upon ice but not release it. Feel the change?”

As Fenris nodded, Dorian smiled. “Good. Now I am going to return to drawing but not releasing lightning. You’ve already drawn ice yourself so you know how that feels; I want you to concentrate very hard on how it feels as I switch back to lightning, and then hold that feeling in your mind before you call up the energy yourself.”

As Fenris frowned in concentration, Dorian nodded encouragement. “That’s it... I can feel you drawing it. Now, I’m going to hold my hand over yours so I can better feel when you’re holding lightning instead of ice in your hand.....”

There was a sharp crack and a flash of light and Dorian swore as he snatched his hand back, clutching his wrist. “Yes, well, you certainly got that pretty quickly!” he said hastily as he turned away, rubbing his hand with a faint pained expression. “Don’t worry about the lack of control, that’ll come - and Leto loses control when he’s angry in any case.”

Fenris grabbed at Dorian’s hand and rubbed the palm. “Can I kiss it better?” 

Dorian blinked at him and arched an eyebrow. “Hardly the time or place, _amatus_ ,” he said quietly before glancing at the bed where Zevran lay, his eyes closed.

“As you say, Dorian.” Fenris hid his disappointment as he left for the demon's den. He hadn't wanted to start anything, just show a bit of affection before leaving. He brushed it aside as he climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters and knocked briskly. 

The door opened. “Come in, Leto,” called Anders’ voice briskly. “I was expecting you sooner.”

“I don’t jump when you say jump, Inquisitor. I had work to do. However, when you try and kill the Spymaster to get my attention, I decided to come calling,” Fenris said acerbically. 

Anders was reading through a report in his hand, tapping a quill against the desktop in a manner that he’d seen his own Anders do so often when distracted that it was almost painful to see it on a creature that he knew was almost wholly demon. Then the blond mage looked up at him, and the ice-blue eyes were pure spirit fire.

“If he is incapable of performing his duties then he is no longer Spymaster,” said Vengeance coldly. “And in which case his usefulness to me is ended. If he is no longer useful then yes, I shall kill him. He is as aware of this as I am. He allowed a traitor to come close enough to him that he evidently might have just as easily ended up dead already. A Spymaster who makes mistakes is useless to me.”

“His incapacity is my fault, Inquisitor, and as such I was making sure he could return to his duties as soon as possible. I assure you, he is as useful as can be; this is just temporary, nothing more. Should he fail again on his own, then I will end him myself. You know I have no qualms about injuring him.” Fenris returned the creature’s stare as it watched him. 

“We are all very well aware of that,” sneered Vengeance. “He doubtless makes a most pleasing punch bag and a scapegoat for you, doesn’t he? He’s not _your_ tool, Leto, and you would do well to remember that.” He glanced back to the report in his hand. “He has twenty-four hours from now to present himself to me here, alone, on his own two feet. Or I shall have him hung.” 

Fenris grinned at the demon and relaxed just a bit. “He will be here, but don’t threaten him. That’s my only joy, don’t take it from me, my Lord.” He sketched a slight bow to the demon, still smiling. 

Vengeance’s head slowly swivelled in a manner entirely unlike Anders - indeed, unlike any living mortal man. The alien eyes seemed to stare right through him. “Do not mock me, Leto,” the creature said softly. “Or I shall give Anders a close view of Arainai’s handwork. Believe me, you do not wish that.” It smiled slowly, with Anders’ face but in a way that Anders had never smiled. “And if Arainai is not here - _alone_ \- on the morrow, then I shall hang him here, in this room, and I shall allow Anders to watch.”

The alien eyes flicked back to the report. “And if you displease me further, Leto, Dorian will swing beside Arainai. You may go.”

“I do not mock you serah, merely request you don’t take away the one thing that still gives me a little pleasure in this world. Zevran will be here before the noon bell. A good day to you, Inquisitor.” Fenris snapped a salute and left the demon to whatever it got up to when it was alone. 

He hurried back to Dorian’s quarters, not stopping for anyone until he was inside and the door was locked. Fenris took off the mantle and went right for the wine. “He...wants Zevran there within twenty-four hours or he will hang him. We don’t have a choice.”

Dorian leapt up from his seat. “Are you sure?” he exclaimed, horrified. “That - he _saw_ what state Zevran was in! He _can’t_! This - it isn’t even Zevran’s fault!” He gestured with a hand and Fenris felt a tingle in the air as the silence spell took effect. “Fenris. We have to get Zevran out of here somehow. If Zevran cannot stand before him then he’s a dead man - but I fear even if Vengeance backs down this time, it’s only a matter of time until he decides Zevran has simply outlived his usefulness regardless of his state of health.”

“Zevran has to appear or he will hang him and let Anders watch. Then you.” Fenris sounded flat, wrong as he spoke and stared into Dorian’s eyes. “We get him upright and we get him to the demon tomorrow or we all die. End of story.” 

Dorian’s eyes widened; he tried to speak but nothing would come. He looked over at the bed, then drew a shaky breath. “Then... we have no choice,” he said quietly before looking back at Fenris. “We have to kill Vengeance. Somehow. And then get as far away from here as we possibly can.”

“No, we take over the Inquisition,” Fenris said as if he were asking for a drink. 

Dorian stared at him as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Dumat, and I thought _he_ was the mad one,” he breathed. “Fenris - you’re suggesting we stage a coup. We cannot possibly do this alone! We will need allies!” He gestured towards the bed. “We don’t know if Zevran is even capable of standing, much less fighting alongside us - and even if he is, can you be certain the guards will fall in on our side? And can you imagine the repercussions outside the Inquisition if we _do_ pull this off?”

“Yes, yes I can. Either we kill Anders or we all run with nothing to our name and let him run roughshod over everyone here. You’re all terrified of that demon. I love my Anders too much to let him become such a creature, and it’s clear no one here cares enough to release him. I’ll run the damned Inquisition along with you, Josephine and Zevran if I have to but I will not bow to a demon ever again Pavus. You hear me?!” 

Dorian recoiled, lifting his hands placatingly. “I hear you! Just....” He broke off and ran a hand through his hair, for the moment thoroughly disconcerted. “ _Vishante kaffas_ , at least let’s get Josie in here. If we are to do this then she should at least have some say in the matter - and she may have suggestions and some insight as to just how many of the guard are to be relied upon, whilst Zevran is indisposed.” He gestured back at the bed, where Zevran appeared not to have moved since last Fenris had seen him.

“Go get her then, I’ll try to rouse Zevran.” Fenris had sat on the bed and pulled the smaller elf into his arm. “Arainai, now is not the time for a nap.” 

Dorian left hastily, striding swiftly to find the diminutive Antivan ambassador; for the moment, Fenris and Zevran were alone. The Antivan appeared dead to the world as he lay limp in Fenris’ arms, but after a moment Fenris thought he saw the blond elf’s eyelashes flicker briefly. 

“Forgive me for this, but I don’t know what else to do and I’m desperate.” Fenris slapped the slighter elf so hard his head rolled to the other side of the pillow. “Wake up damn you, I can’t do this without you and Dorian. Come on!”

Zevran gasped and his eyes opened, staring blankly for a moment before he turned his head to stare up at Fenris. Fenris hadn’t missed the way that the Antivan had tensed then checked himself - as though restraining himself from a once-instinctive response.

The Antivan stared at Fenris. “Am I being punished?” he whispered. His eyes searched Fenris’ as though for some clue as to how he had earned such a rude awakening. His eyes were still slightly glazed as though from deep sleep.

“No, not yet but you need to wake up and listen to me. You are in a lot of danger from the demon, but I have a plan. It might be stupid and get us all killed but we have to do something.” Fenris pulled Zevran up and held him. “I’m sorry I slapped you so hard.”

Zevran seemed bewildered but then tentatively wrapped his arms around Fenris. “You... you are Fenris,” he murmured. “I have been dreaming, I think.” He rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder. “This... this is something I have dreamed however. That Leto would hold me like this - not merely when he is remorseful, but....” He pulled himself away slightly then put a hand to his head. “I feel so strange and dizzy, as though I had been sleeping for a month and only just awakened,” he murmured. 

“You drank most of a bottle of brandy by yourself, and the Inquisitor paid you a visit. It’s no wonder you feel terrible. Will a stamina potion help?” Fenris said as he held the elf close and nuzzled against him. “Mythal please tell me there’s a reason for me to be here and not home, please,” he whispered. 

Zevran put a hand to his throat. “The Inquisitor... yes, he came whilst you were gone. I pretended to be asleep but then I think he tried to kill me. His grip was so strong - had he used his metal hand then I think he would have crushed my throat. I remember Dorian shouting, but then I remember nothing more until you struck me.”

“You probably passed out from lack of air, and it’s why you feel so terrible.” Fenris cradled the elf’s face and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You said Leto can heal - how did he learn, if your demon can’t do so? Dorian is a necromancer, not a healer.” 

“We were caught in an ambush,” shrugged Zevran. “Dorian had business in Tevinter and we escorted him to the border. Dorian’s Tevinter guards protected him but our people were decimated, and I took a serious wound that almost took off my arm. Had he not managed to heal me, I might have died of bloodloss before he could get me to a healer. The scar across my bicep - you saw it, yes? He was astonished, but later he worked upon it more. Well,” he shrugged, “He has had many reasons to practice, and he has practiced often upon me. A warrior’s life is a hard one, and Leto would not ask his warriors to go where he would not. So he has saved many of his people. And when he has been here in Skyhold, at first I would allow him to practice by giving myself small wounds of no consequence that he could try to heal. As he grew better at it, I think that was when our games grew darker. I could take more pain because he could heal it, no? And yet, I think perhaps it was my own darkness that led me to even suggest such games to begin with. And as the demon had me perform more and more duties for him, the games... they were how I think I stayed sane. And yet....”

Zevran pulled away and frowned as he put a hand to his forehead. “How strange,” he murmured. “How is it that I can see this so clearly now, when before I could not?”

“I’m not sure, but we have to do something because right now you couldn’t best a wet paper bag,” Fenris said as he laid a hand over Zevran’s chest and gently but firmly pressed him back to lie down once more. He concentrated on Zevran’s heartbeat; something to center himself so he could try and find anything wrong or that seemed strange. He had no idea what he was doing, or if that was how healing worked; but he was desperate.

Zevran’s heart had sped up the moment Fenris laid a hand on his chest, but as a couple of minutes passed his heart slowed. “Your magic... it does not feel like Leto’s,” he remarked quietly.

As the Antivan spoke, Fenris found his awareness travelling to the Antivan’s throat, and suddenly he remembered - Anders, taken over by Llyra who drew Fenris into awareness of Zevran’s body and showed him how Anders and Hal must have seen Zevran’s body as healers. This Zevran had many of the same scars inside; it was like a familiar country with a few minor changes - and one or two very much more recent ones. He swiftly found the damage to the Antivan’s throat - both the healing scar where he had plunged the shard of ice through it, but also more recent damage. Beneath the white bandage he could feel through some inner sense the bruises inflicted by strong fingers - and the internal damage to the Antivan’s throat. Almost by instinct he found himself calling small wisps across from the Fade and guiding them to heal as he had seen Llyra do through Anders’ hands - save that for Fenris, the conduit was the very lyrium in his body as he shifted half into the Fade himself.

He passed his hands through Zevran’s form, his incorporeal fingers finding the damage from the dark-haired agent earlier - and he realised how truly rough the man had been. He found the place where blood pooled beneath the skin, bruising and more gathering where he must have struck Zevran.

Zevran gasped softly. “Yes - very different,” he murmured. “You... are more skilled at this even than Leto!”

“Who is more skilled than -” Dorian broke off as he stepped into the room to find it lit up by the blazing light of Fenris’ lyrium. The white-haired elf ignored him as he gently guided wisps with his fingers, relieving lingering pain and healing the damage he found.

And then he couldn’t help it. He trailed one hand through Zevran’s thigh, tracing the place from hip to knee where Hal had opened his own Antivan up to heal him. The muscles and bone were unscarred, and he could have wept for knowledge that in his lyrium and veins perhaps he had had the cure for his Zevran’s pain all along.

He felt a warm thumb brush his cheek and he opened his eyes as the light faded to find the Antivan was staring up at him, a look of wonder upon his face. “Who do you cry for, _carissimi_?” Zevran whispered.

“My Zevran, I could have healed him by now,” Fenris whispered back before he turned and saw Dorian with Josephine behind him. “Hello, Ambassador.”

Josephine blinked, then smiled at Fenris. “So, what should I call you, serrah?” she asked. “It is clear you are not Leto.” She glanced to Zevran and smiled warmly. “Zevran, you are looking healthier than I have seen in far too long.”

With an apologetic look to Fenris, Zevran extricated himself from the taller elf’s arms and slipped from the bed to move towards Josephine. He took her hands in his and kissed the back of each before she stepped into his arms and they hugged. 

“Josie,” he murmured, and then switched to their native tongue. “ _He has healed me.... Josie, what have I done? It is as though I had awakened after being ill for a long time! Maker, the things I did - how can you bear to even look at me??_ ”

“ _Hush,_ ” she murmured back. “ _It is that demon. But you understand now why I was so afraid for you?_ ”

“ _Josie. I told you only the truth. I goaded him - I **wanted** him to hurt me! I -_ ”

“ _No, Zevran. No matter what darkness lay in your heart, he should not have done that to you. You nearly died twice. You are free of him - please promise me you will not allow him to ever touch you like that again! I cannot bear to ever hear you scream like that again!_ ”

Zevran buried his face in Josephine’s hair. “I promise,” he murmured in Trade.

Dorian was looking bewildered; although Fenris could follow their discussion, the magister could not speak a word of Antivan. He glanced to Fenris and shook his head to indicate his ignorance.

The elf shook his head and cleared his throat. “If Dorian will do us the favor of another silencing spell, I’ll explain myself.” 

Dorian gestured and Fenris felt the tingling feeling of the magister’s magic take hold; it was so familiar by now that he thought he could likely work the spell himself.

Zevran guided Josie to a chair and poured her a glass of wine before glancing to Fenris.

“I’m ...Leto but not. I don’t belong here in this Thedas. I was brought back in error after the fight in the Fade and I’ve been trying to pretend to be Leto until we could figure out a way back; but the demon that runs things here has forced us to change plans. He means to kill Zevran and Dorian if our spymaster isn’t in front of him and ready to report by this time tomorrow. I mean to kill him instead.” Fenris gave her a brilliant smile before taking up his own glass of wine.

Josephine sat back and regarded him thoughtfully as she took up her glass. “I have only one question. Do you think you can separate the demon from the body he inhabits?”

Zevran glanced to Dorian then to Fenris. “Please,” he said pleadingly. “I remember Anders from when he became a Warden. He was a good man! And I have seen his eyes when Vengeance’s hold has slipped; there is a good man in there still!”

“Zevran...” said Dorian in a low voice; Zevran turned back to him. 

“It is true, I swear it! Dorian, you are a necromancer - could you capture his spirit as he dies, bring him back to his body?”

Dorian inhaled sharply. “You don’t know what you’re asking! Zevran, I don’t even know if what you’re asking is even possible!”

“If you need blood, then take mine,” Zevran replied. “I have killed and tortured too many for Vengeance - I would gladly shed my blood if it would bring him back to himself.”

“We have to be sure we can kill that thing first before you try and ask the impossible, Zevran. It is a demon; not much left of the man you knew and who Leto may have loved at one time. One thing at a time, please.” Fenris thought for a moment as he turned to Dorian.

“When my Anders was in another Thedas, his double took Justice from him and he didn’t die, barely. Do you think we can keep him on the brink of death until that demon loses its hold and he might return to himself? Or will we condemn him to be a husk of a man that has lost his soul along with Vengeance?” Fenris asked. 

It was Dorian’s turn to pace. “Fenris, this is... I honestly don’t know. We can but try. If we fail, then we at least free the poor bastard to the Fade. If we succeed? maybe there will be a living man left. Doubtless traumatised, he’ll probably go to pieces - certainly in no fit state to be Inquisitor.”

“If we succeed and it would be kinder to let him die, then I have poisons that will work painlessly,” said Zevran softly. “If he lives and needs care? Then I will take him far from here and I swear I will care for him. It is what I should do in penance for the horrors I committed in his name.” He bowed his head. “You have not seen what I have done down there in the dungeons below the Rookery,” he murmured. “If you did then you would be truly horrified. What I did... it is why, when in the hours of the early morning I am myself, I cannot sleep. I am a monster.”

“If he lives and needs care you will stay here. No one is going to make you leave, do you understand?” Fenris said as he knelt and took Zevran’s hands. “Listen to me, we’re going to confront him tomorrow and either he dies, we get Anders back or ...we die. I am not planning on dying by the way so we have to pull this off, do you understand? I’m stuck here and I can’t sit back and watch all this happen to versions of men I love so either we win or we die.” The elven warrior pressed a kiss to each of the rogue’s palms and remained before him. 

“No,” said Zevran slowly as he blinked and looked up. “There is a sickness in this place. I feel it less here... but if Anders remains here, I think it will be the death of him. I think I should take him far away.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Nevarra. I think he would like the mountains; they would be like his Ferelden, but not so cold.”

“Sickness...” pondered Dorian. “You know - Fenris, I do think he’s right! Close your eyes and just feel for a moment. We both said that this place feels wrong, didn’t we? The Veil is so thin here. Something horrendous must have happened somewhere nearby.” He stared at Zevran. “You poor bastard,” he murmured.

“Poor bastard?” laughed Zevran. “You have no idea! You....” he gasped through near-hysterical laughter. “My mother was a Dalish _whore!_ I was sold to the Crows when I was seven - I had no father! You... you....” He fell to the floor, raking a hand through his hair, giggling until the laughter turned to sobs. 

He hunched in upon himself, his whole body racked with silent paroxysms of grief as Josephine reached out a hand towards him, her eyes filled with empathy and worry. He linked his hand with hers, his face buried in his other hand; and Fenris realised that Josephine must have been his sole friend for far too long.

Fenris dusted himself off and went to Dorian for some comfort, a moment before they started to plan their coup. It would likely be the last peaceful moment any of them had for a while.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto gets to meet the brother he never knew he had - and Ellowynne confides in Callus.

As Leto approached the bed, Zevran stretched slowly. “I fell asleep for a while, I think,” remarked the Antivan with a slight yawn. He glanced up at Leto with a smile. “Was your talk with Meneris productive, my friend?”

“It was...alright. I think Dorian was annoyed with me being formal but it is what I know,” Leto replied as he sat next to Zevran. 

“Ah, Dorian may be irritable sometimes, but his bark is worse than his bite, I think,” shrugged the smaller elf. “And I think he finds himself in an awkward position now between his work in Tevinter and how things are in Skyhold now there is no longer an Inquisition to be ambassador to.” He shifted slightly then drew his breath in sharply and slowly massaged his thigh for a moment. “Hmm, I must have lain awkwardly,” he murmured. “I feel quite stiff. I -” He broke off and glanced over towards the door that led to the stairs. “Ah, friend Aeolus, I believe,” he remarked, about two heartbeats before Leto himself could hear a foot upon the stairs.

“Who is that?” Leto asked as the door opened and he saw the strange elf. Though not as tall as Leto himself (but then he had never seen another to equal his height until he laid eyes on Fenris), nonetheless the man was tall for most elves. He had long hair swept back in braids; the hair that fell on the side of the black tattoos that wound their way over one half of his body was red, but the other half - on the side with silvery tattoos the mirror image of the blackwork ones - was pure snow white. His eyes were bright azure blue, and his face was very familiar; it put him in mind a little of Varania.

The strange elf - Aeolus, according to Zevran, it seemed - halted and stared at Leto in surprise. “Leto?” he breathed. Then he hastened across the room with a look of joy. “Brother!” Before Leto could react, he was engulfed in a hug. “They said nothing to me of your return!”

Leto stiffened in the other elf’s embrace, too stunned to reply. Brother? This version of him had a brother? Did this mean he had one as well and never found him? “I….”

“Aeolus!” exclaimed Zevran. “No, this -” He broke off as Aeolus slowly drew back with a look of confusion, then glanced to the Antivan.

“This... this is not my _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran quietly. “He is not _your_ Leto, but another from a different Thedas. This is the man who was brought back in place of your brother.”

Aeolus backed away swiftly, a frown beginning to darken his face as he glanced from Zevran to Leto, and then back. “So my brother has been replaced in your bed by this interloper, Zevran?” he said in a low growl. “Is this why you have hidden yourself away up here, instead of waiting at Invictus’ side for Anders to awaken?”

Beside him, Leto could feel how still Zevran had gone.

“My friend, this is not what you think,” replied the Antivan in a quiet, calm voice. Leto knew that voice - he had heard his own Zevran use it when frightened but angry, and almost always preceding an attack when the Spymaster felt threatened and cornered.

“Aeolus, I am not keeping him from Anders or Invictus, I swear to you! He came up to rest after waiting with you all this time for Fenris. I am not trying to take his place, I just want to go home, don’t be angry with Zevran.” Leto had moved in front of Zevran and tensed in case either of them were attacked. 

“You seem rather close for some stranger,” said Aeolus grimly. 

“Aeolus, do not do this,” said Zevran quietly. He had slipped one hand beneath the pillow he had been resting against, and Leto knew with certainty that the former Crow’s hand would be upon the hilt of a blade.

Leto tilted his head at that comment. “I was just sitting next to him!” He felt his control slipping, magic rising in response to his anger. “I didn't do anything to Zevran; why are you like this?” 

Aeolus moved slowly around the bed, his eyes flicking between Leto and Zevran. “Invictus needs you,” he said quietly. “Not this - this interloper who wears my brother’s face!”

Zevran twisted around to follow Aeolus’ movement. “And Invictus understands that I will be useless to both him and Anders if I do not rest. I am no mage; I cannot bring Fenris back. I cannot heal Anders. What does it matter then, where I sleep? And why should I not talk with Leto? Should he be a pariah among us?” 

Leto had turned to follow Aeolus’ movements, his anger growing as he was berated by this man who he’d just met. He let his claws extend and lightning come to him as he readied himself for a fight. “It seems no one here wants me around Zevran, but this is a bit much. To be berated by the brother of your Fenris as soon as I meet him. I’m getting tired of being treated like this.” 

“Then perhaps you should find somewhere else to be,” growled Aeolus. “I would have words with you, Arainai.”

“No, I will not be forced out because you don’t like seeing a different version of your sibling. Leave Zevran alone, he’s tired and needs to rest.” Leto let his brands light as well as called lightning openly to his hands. “You should go now.”

Aeolus bared his teeth in a feral grin; the next moment, Leto felt his lyrium flicker and then darken. “Care to try again?” he hissed.

Zevran glanced from Aeolus to Leto, his eyes widening as the brands slowly died yet lightning still danced upon Leto’s hands. 

“Wait!” he cried, throwing himself forward between them both. “If you kill one another - what will that do to my _carissimi_?” He looked to Aeolus. “I cannot allow you to do this! What disaster might it wreak if you harm Fenris’ mirror self?” He turned back to Leto. “If you hurt Aeolus - if you kill him? What would that do to Fenris when he returns?”

“I hadn’t planned on killing him, just showing him why having a go at me for no reason is a very, very bad idea.” Leto smiled as he pulled more lightning to his hands and raised them. “Nice trick with my brands, but that means nothing. Do you want to undo that and stand down or do I need to make you?”

Zevran threw himself from the bed and pushed Aeolus back, grasping his arms as he stared up at the taller elf. “Stop,” he said softly. “This is neither the time nor place for this. You have no right to do this, Aeolus my friend, and in a minute someone in this room is going to get hurt.”

Aeolus stared down at him. “Then come down with me now. I’ll take you directly to the infirmary.”

Zevran shook his head tiredly. “Did you not hear a word I said?” He pulled back but suddenly it was Aeolus holding him still. “Aeolus, unhand me. I am going nowhere!”

“Get your hands off him, or is it you I should worry about? I had not raised a hand to Zevran but you’re trying to force him to your will.” Leto wanted to grab at the smaller elf but he knew he’d hurt him with his claws out and lightning dancing along his hands. Instead he stepped back and let his magic dissipate. “Let him be, he can make his own decisions.” 

Aeolus glared at him, then suddenly grinned as his own lyrium flared brightly into life. Zevran barely had a chance to shout a wordless cry of denial and then suddenly they both winked out of existence and Leto was alone.

As the Rookery vanished around him and Zevran felt the nauseating jerk of travel through the Fade, it was replaced equally suddenly by the sights, sounds and smells of the infirmary as they appeared at the foot of Anders’ bed. 

Zevran managed to pull away from Aeolus, stumbling a few steps towards Invictus before he felt himself falling, grateful to feel Invictus’ arms catch him. 

“Zevran! I thought you were resting in the rookery?” Invictus exclaimed as he picked his husband up. “What is going on here, you are supposed to be sleeping,” he asked as he turned to see Aeolus.

“Why did you bring him here? He needs some damned rest after sitting around in the desert for three days. I knew where he was, and he’s tired and in pain Aeolus. Explain and it better be damned good or else.” 

“The interloper with my brother’s face that you brought back was cozying up to him where he lay in bed,” said Aeolus darkly. “Is my brother so easily forgotten then, that he is replaced so soon in your husband’s bed?”

“That is not what was happening,” groaned Zevran. “Your anger blinds you, Aeolus, and now you have no idea what you have done. Do you know what it cost me to climb those stairs?”

Ellowynne rose from her chair on the other side of Anders’ bed and swiftly moved to place herself between Invictus and Zevran, and Aeolus as he stood there.

“How dare you!” she snapped. “And at my father’s sickbed as well! For shame, Aeolus! What would Uncle Fenris think, to know you’ve hurt Zevran by man-handling him like this? If Invictus hadn’t caught him, do you know what a fall onto this hard flagstone floor could have done to his leg?”

Aeolus took a step back as he stared at Ellowynne; tall and willowy for her age, she was closer to his own height than he remembered. He hadn’t realised until now just how much she resembled her father when angry as she glared at him, her amber eyes darkened with anger.

Invictus set Zevran down on a cot before getting in Aeolus’ face, his own power flaring up at his brother-in-law’s accusation. “You dare say that to me? To think any of us could just replace Fenris? You fucking dare accuse Zevran of all people of just ignoring what has happened after sitting vigil in the cold desert night - with _you_ , I’ll remind you! That he didn’t want to leave and was willing to sit alone at Adamant until Fenris returned?”

Invictus tamped down on the fire he felt trying to come to his hands as he continued to rail at Aeolus, never raising his voice but admonishing the elf in a way that Leandra would have done. “We love Fenris more than you can ever know, we aren’t replacing him, we aren’t forgetting him. But Anders damn near died again and you know Zevran’s leg is bad - but no, you once again decided you know exactly what we’re doing and feeling. No wonder you and Fenris can't keep the peace between you for more than a few days at a time if this is what you do. Now find somewhere else to be before you wake Anders and hurt Zevran any more than you have.”

Aeolus glared at Invictus. “I went to the Rookery to talk to Zevran. I wished to tell him that my sister Varania might be able to help bring Fenris back,” he said stiffly.

Zevran lifted his head and stared at him, his face blank. “No,” he said softly. “No, she may not come near _mi cuore_. She hurt him once, and I nearly died thanks to her men. You would bring that viper here, after what she has done and knowing how my _carissimi_ feels about her?”

“She’s been studying Dorian’s papers on portal travel,” said Aeolus stiffly. “There is much talk in Minrathous that she has made new discoveries regarding travel through the Fade. She may have valuable insights that we can ill afford to ignore. She no longer has a reason to come after me _or_ Anders.” He glanced at Zevran. “You were... an unfortunate casualty. But she would have no reason to threaten you.” 

Invictus grabbed Aeolus and dragged him out to the hallway so he could shout and not risk waking Anders. He let go once the door had shut. “Are you entirely out of your damned mind?! Do you have any idea what it will do to Anders to wake up and see her here? You might just put him in the ground for good! Or what if we get Fenris back and she’s the first one he sees upon returning? What about Pin and Callus? He kept them from her for a reason! Do you care about any of us at all, Aeolus?” 

“There is no reason why she should come anywhere near Anders at all,” Aeolus snapped back. “As for what Fenris may think, I would presume he would be only too grateful to actually be back home again instead of still trapped back there! Why should he care who actually gets him home? Surely the important thing is to get him back, whole? Unlike you I am no mage, Invictus - so whilst you sit here to be here for Anders, what am I to do? I need to _act_ , and I need to bring my brother home - and I will do so by any means that might work! Believe me, if I could teleport clean across the Fade to fetch him then I would - but I can’t!”

“Do you have any idea how her betrayal hurt him? What it will do to your barely healed relationship with him once he realizes you went to her for help? He’s getting better at emotions, but that is a scar that runs deep and may never heal, Aeolus. After he’s relieved to be home, do you know what will happen? He’ll be furious and hurt worse than before that you got her help. If you do this, it will be on your head to deal with the consequences after he’s home.”

He took a step closer to Aeolus, who stood his ground as the mage continued. “She does not come near Anders or me, or any of the children. If Zevran feels threatened, I won’t shed a tear if he takes things into his hands. And _you_ , if you ever again say we are replacing Fenris or have forgotten him for Leto, I will end you myself. He’s having a pretty rotten time here but since you decided he was clearly just taking over Fenris’ life instead of talking to him, you will go apologize dammit. He has no one here, and he just wants to go home like we want Fenris back. Some sibling you are! And I thought Carver and I had a bad relationship.” Vic tamped down on the smoke he smelled coming from his hands as he stared down his in-law brother.

“She’ll have no reason to come anywhere near you, Anders or the children,” said Aeolus heavily. “There is no reason why she need come near any of you. I know that Dorian has set the mages at the College to researching ways to reach through the Fade to other worlds; she can assist them. They have some of her papers that she had sent to the Magisterium library, but it would be far more useful if they could work with her directly.” He glanced to the closed door. “And I don’t think Zevran would be capable of taking matters into his own hands - certainly not around either me _or_ my brother’s mirror-self. You would do well to keep him well away from that... that creature.”

“Do you hear yourself? You sound like Fenris did when we found you. Or have you forgotten how he wanted to kill you, end your suffering and call you “it”. Leto is not a creature, and I will not let him be alone and lonely here because you don’t like him. You are welcome to find somewhere else to be, Nakusa, and you will not tell me what to do with my husbands. If he finds comfort in being around Leto or wants company while he rests, I will not tell Leto he cannot be around us. You are the third person to lay into him when he’s been dropped into a strange world, with people who look like those he knows from home but it’s not. I know what that feels like, you do not. You will not show up and start giving orders like it’s your ship. Now go get that viper and keep her to the College or I will end her for what she’s done to Fenris. You’ve crossed a line and right now I need you to leave before I forget myself or that the people in there need me.” Vic was furious, but his voice had dropped to that same low, controlled volume that Malcolm had used on him as a boy. He just wanted to get Fenris back but Aeolus was pushing his buttons in the worst way. 

As Invictus called him “Nakusa”, Aeolus’ face had gone curiously blank, save for a slight tic beneath one eye. His eyes glittered dangerously, and as Vic stopped speaking, the tattooed and scarred elf regarded him silently for a moment. Then he stepped forward and slammed Invictus hard against the stone wall. “If you ever use that name again, I will kill you,” he whispered.

Abruptly his form blazed with lyrium light, and then Invictus was alone in the hallway.

“I don’t need this shit, least of all from him,” Vic said as he winced and rubbed his chest. He entered the infirmary to find a commotion at the other end of the room where a familiar white head of hair was visible among a few healers. “What happened to him?” he asked.

Zevran had taken Invictus’ seat and he was slumped forward upon Anders’ bed, his head pillowed upon his folded arms, his eyes closed as Ellowynne stood beside him, rubbing soothing circles against his back as she watched the goings on. She glanced up at Invictus.

“Leto just walked into the infirmary - well, limped, rather; he’s got burns down his leg and he looks rather angry and in pain,” she replied. “I think the healers are trying to sort out his leg; he’s refused to be admitted to any other ward apparently so they brought him in here - I suppose because it’s the closest and the quietest.” She frowned as she noticed the expression on Vic’s face. “What happened, Uncle Vic? Did he hurt you?”

Zevran lifted his head as his eyes opened and he glanced up at Invictus. “My love, are you hurt?” he asked.

Vic kept rubbing a hand over his chest as he watched them work on Leto. “I used his old name, and he didn’t like it. Shoved me me pretty hard against a wall and then teleported off after warning me he’d kill me if I called him Nakusa again. I thought Fen was volatile but that’s nothing compared to his brother.” He winced as he tried to take a deep breath. “Maybe I should lie down; having problems breathing after he slammed me into a wall.” 

Ellowynne frowned. “He attacked you?” she exclaimed. “Should I fetch one of the healers?”

“Sure, Ellowynne, I think I need it,” Vic said before he took a cot and laid down. He kept rubbing his chest and wincing. “I wonder if he cracked a rib,” he wondered as he heard Leto fussing at the healers about his leg. 

Ellowynne patted Zevran’s shoulder and he rested his head upon his arms again, looking exhausted, as she walked back up the ward to speak to one of the healers.

The closer she got to the group clustered around the white-haired elf who looked so like her Uncle Fenris, the more she could pick up on the residual aura of a discharged fireball spell that hung about him; even as she spoke quietly to one of the healers, she kept darting glances back at Leto, and as the healer headed back up the ward to check on Invictus she lingered, watching.

The elf glanced up at the girl, confused as what she could want. He’d hoped no one else was going to go at him after the way his day had begun. “You’re Anders’ daughter, right?” he finally asked before laying back with a groan. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’m Ellowynne, daughter of Anders of Kinloch and Tadhriel of Ostwick.” She took a step closer. “Who fireballed you?”

“I...what? How did you know that?” Leto asked as he laid there and tried to locate just where he’d been hit so he could work on healing himself. 

“The residual energy from a fireball is quite distinctive when you know how to look,” she replied with a small shrug. “I’ve thrown enough fireballs to recognise it.” She watched him for a moment. “It’s your right leg and hip; a little on your calf. Or should I say, it _was_ your right _hind_ leg?” She smiled slightly. “The pattern of the discharge shows fairly clearly that it was a mostly-glancing blow that hit you whilst you were travelling very fast. If you had been using your lyrium to hasten you, the fireball would have passed through harmlessly. So you must have been flying as a dragon, as Uncle Fenris has done often.”

Leto opened an eye to glance at the girl. “Are you sure you’re not a spy in training, young sirrah? That’s a little concerning, as you were nowhere near me.” He sat up and began to work on his injuries, concentrating more than Anders or the other mages had to. He frowned as he struggled and finally gave up when he couldn’t focus. 

“Zevran _is_ my stepfather,” she pointed out. “He taught me how to fight with knives, so that I would still have a way to defend myself once my mana runs out - or if a templar should Silence or Purge me. But no, he didn’t teach me how to recognise residual energy signatures; that was my teacher.” She gave him a small smile that seemed very familiar somehow. It reminded him a little of Solas. “I travelled to find my father; it was just me and my dracolisk. I needed to be smart and observant. The skills have stood me in good stead, and my teacher only helped me refine them further.”

“I see. Well, you have done well, Ellowynne.” Leto stared up at the ceiling and wondered what else the girl wanted. “You should probably return to your father before they accuse _you_ of replacing Fenris as well.” He turned away and tried to calm himself for another round of healing. He wanted to find a space and just be alone after his run in with Fenris’ brother.

She glanced at the healers who had gone to treat other, less prickly patients, then back up the ward to where Zevran was once more slumped forward onto her father’s bed as Anders slept. The other healer had finished with Invictus, who was sitting up slowly.

“Invictus certainly won’t, and nor will Papa Zevran,” she replied. “ _Mi Zio_ and I could hear the fight Uncle Vic had with Aeolus. He made it quite clear what he thought of his interference; he was furious with how he treated _Zio_.” She glanced down at his leg, then back up at him. “Why don’t you slip your hand into the Fade and guide the wisps where you want them to go? Wisps aren’t very intelligent really; as spirits go, they’re very simple beings. Sometimes you have to nudge them.” She lifted a hand and he felt a tiny whisper of magic as she called a little wisp to herself then nudged it up into the air where it twinkled softly with light then disappeared as she released it back to the Fade.

“I’m sorry what? I don’t understand,” Leto said as he turned to look at her in confusion. She was very sweet but he didn’t follow what she meant about wisps.

She tilted her head on one side and blinked, startled, before she moved around to sit in the chair beside his bed. “No-one’s ever told you what it is you’re doing when you heal, have they?” she realised. “You had to figure it all out for yourself. It’s spirits. That’s what wisps are; they’re the simplest, most basic form of spirits. Very little intelligence, but that means it’s easier to get them to do simple tasks. When you heal, what you think of as healing energy? That’s wisps that you’ve called to you through the Fade. When you’re pushing healing energy around, you’re basically guiding them with your mind. The problem is that unless you’re really used to doing it - or have been trained - then it’s hard to give them really simple, precise commands. What you were doing... you were pushing them into your leg and then trying to get them to go where you want by feeling where it hurts the worst - but the wisps don’t really know what’s expected of them. They know that there’s damage but they don’t entirely know what it is you want them to do. So you have to think really hard at them - picture them fixing the damage and the parts that have been hurt healing up. Pin’s getting really good at it these days; she’s really strong at calling spirits and they just pick up from her effortlessly what she needs them to do; and she can call up more powerful spirits - spirits of compassion and healing, that can heal and cure so much more than the little wisps can. She just had to learn all the basic stuff like anatomy and how a body heals naturally first.” She gave him a smile. “Does that make sense?”

“I...guess? I had to learn from Dorian and that was it. I have no real training aside from him,” Leto replied as he watched the girl then glanced at his leg. “Forgive me, that was a lot and I understood it but I’m still hurting so some of it didn’t stick. Maybe I’ll try again when I can concentrate, thank you.” 

“Father once told me it’s always harder to heal others when he’s tired or in pain himself, and that that’s why sometimes it’s just easier for him not to think about it and ignore his own injuries.” She gave him a lopsided smile that was pure Anders. “ _Zio_ told him exactly what he thought of _that_.” She glanced back up to the ward at Vic. “Look... I don’t think you’re comfortable around the healers, are you? They’re strangers, and perhaps you’ve had enough of being surrounded by so many people you don’t know. But you were in the Fade with Uncle Vic, so I should think he feels less like a stranger. He’s probably had more practice at healing - _and_ had some training from my father on top of what he already knew - so would you come and let _him_ look at your leg?”

“I guess, if he is able to; that other elf hit him pretty hard, it sounds like.” Leto wasn’t sure what to make of the young lady aside from seeing how clearly she was related to Anders despite the delicately upswept tips of her ears. “If not, I’ll just try to sleep it off.”

“Aeolus? Yes, I think he shoved him pretty hard - the lyrium makes him very strong; almost as strong as Uncle Fenris,” she replied before eyeing Leto. “Or, I should think, you. It’s probably why he was able to force _mi Zio_ to come with him - so I think if Aeolus shows his nose in here again I shall have to remind him that I am my father’s daughter.”

She rose to her feet and smoothed the skirts of her dress before turning to Leto. “I’ll help you.You can lean on me; I’m far stronger than I look.”

Leto didn’t know what to make of her, especially with his own experience of a teenage girl was with his own daughter who hated him. After a moment, he got up and let her help him over to where Invictus was sitting up. “Your step-daughter is insistent, like her pater.” 

“Uncle Vic, he’s in too much discomfort to be able concentrate and heal himself,” Ellowynne explained. “Someone seems to have fireballed him as he flew. I think maybe Dorian will need to have a word with Senior Enchanter Parcival, as the First Enchanter, so that the more... ah... _excitable_ students understand that a dragon flying around Skyhold isn’t there for target practice.”

Vic looked at her in surprise, again feeling as if she’d grown up quite a bit during her adventure. “Sure, have a lie down here Leto and I’ll see what I can do. Thanks Ellowynne.” Once Leto was on his back, Vic focused on the leg he noticed the elf favoring.

“People are used to a white dragon around Skyhold, not a black one, I’m afraid. Since you’re a strange dragon to them, they likely thought you were a danger to the fortress. Once people see you using magic, word will get out that you are not former ambassador Hawke I’m afraid.” Vic fell silent as he worked, needing to concentrate.

“I’ll never be a Hawke, no need to remind me,” Leto replied as he closed his eyes and turned away. 

Ellowynne had moved over to Zevran’s side. “Poor _Zio_ ,” she said softly as she ran a hand gently over the sleeping elf’s shoulder. “He must be exhausted and in pain.” She glanced over and watched as Invictus worked on healing Leto’s leg. She frowned slightly as she watched, then turned away slightly and called up a small wisp to herself. She whispered a little message to it, brief and short, then sent it on its way to Pin. From the way Leto had behaved she guessed he was unfamiliar with young women her age - it would probably be better if Pin stayed working over in the other wing of the infirmary for now.

Invictus was still working on Leto’s leg when another wisp appeared. It bobbed around in distracted fashion until it realised where she was and buzzed over to her; it conveyed to her in a simplistic fashion an image of Pin nodding. Ellowynne smiled and dismissed the wisp back to the Fade.

She glanced back again, in time to see Leto sitting up and experimentally flexing his knee, healed once more.

Vic continued to work on Leto’s leg, finally opening his eyes to observe the elf. He seemed just like his beloved; but he seemed tired, worn down in a way Fenris rarely displayed. He kept watching until Leto turned his head to stare at him. “Sorry...I was just thinking of how you and Fen are alike, yet so different.” 

“I’m nothing like your missing husband, at least if the way people have treated me is any indication. Sorry I’m not him,” Leto sniped before turning away again. 

“You must be getting rather tired of saying sorry for something that isn’t your fault,” remarked Ellowynne. “And it must be happening far too often, I think. I wonder if Uncle Fenris feels the same way? Do you think the people in your Thedas have mistaken him for you as easily as they have you for him here?” She regarded sombrely. “Though I suppose not all Thedases will be quite the same as each other, and perhaps in some it is more dangerous to be found out than in others.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I wonder if he knows yet that _he_ is a mage too? I can’t imagine Uncle Fenris would have taken that at all well.”

“I was doing better until Fenris’ brother set upon me for no reason aside from not being his sibling. I hope he can fool my Dorian and Zevran, else his time in my world will be short.” He grimaced at the feel of Vic’s magic under his skin before forcing himself to remain still. Leto wanted nothing more than to find a space to himself where no one would bother him for a while. 

Ellowynne sat on the edge of her father’s bed near Anders’ feet, one hand still resting lightly on Zevran’s shoulder in a way that no-one who valued their lives would ever have dared do to Leto’s own Zevran. “Do you have a room yet?” she asked. “Everything’s been so chaotic, and we don’t have Ambassador Josephine around anymore to take care of little things like that.”

“No, I was going to stay with Zevran but after this morning I dare not do that. I’ll figure it out soon enough, you should worry about your father and Zevran. Thank you anyway.” Leto turned to watch Vic work. “Fenris is lucky to have so many who love him.”

Ellowynne had glanced to Zevran and then her father, both sleeping peacefully; but at Leto’s last words she glanced to him with a shrewd look. “You have been a very lonely man, haven’t you, Leto? First in your own world... and now in ours. I’m sorry; you seem a decent man who’s found himself in poor circumstances. I’m also sorry that perhaps I was rather... aggressive on our first meeting. I was afraid for my father, and I will not see him hurt ever again. I think perhaps upon that, my _Zio_ and I were of one mind.” She glanced down at Zevran who slept on, oblivious to her words.

“It doesn’t matter, I just want to sleep for a while,” Leto said despondently as Vic finally pulled away from him. 

“Do you want me to get a room for you? Maybe Fenris’ old rooms - or would that be too much?” Vic asked quietly.

“As long as no one else attacks me or thinks I’m your missing husband, I really don’t care.” Leto turned to face the wall and fell silent. 

“I think Hal’s old rooms are in decent condition,” suggested Ellowynne. “They were redecorated just before we all moved to Nevarra, and they were still fit for habitation when we came back here - I know Hal slept there whilst he was hiding away from everyone. It’s just below the Rookery, directly above Dorian’s personal rooms. The only people who use that area are some of the servants and of course _Zio_ now he’s sleeping in the Rookery again.” She pulled a slight face. “I would far rather be in my old room - or Father’s old rooms, really. They’re much closer to the infirmary, for a start, and it would mean I don’t have to walk through the Great Hall every morning when the mercenary boys are eating breakfast.”

“Are they bothering you again, Wynne?” Vic asked. 

“Oh, I could deal with them if they tried anything, Uncle Vic,” Ellowynne sighed. “It’s just so tiresome having to walk past all the wolfwhistles and catcalling every day. The girls at the College all avoid the Great Hall and eat over in the College refectory instead, but I can’t - I have to go past them in order to come here. They don’t do it when I’m walking beside you, but you can’t walk me everywhere. If I could move back in to Father’s old rooms then I’d be closer to him, and I could just eat in the dining hall attached to the infirmary with Pin.”

Vic frowned at her words, but didn’t shout like he wanted. “Can you find someone to take care of that? I’ll get Zevran into bed with Anders, then I’m getting some lunch.” He glanced at Leto and sighed. 

“If you see your uncle Aeolus, try to keep him out of the infirmary as well please.” Vic picked the sleeping elf up and settled him next to Anders, pulling a thin sheet over both of them. 

“I think I know who I need to speak to,” nodded Ellowynne. She glanced at her sleeping father and frowned slightly. “I do hope the healers allow Father to wake up soon,” she sighed. Then with a last curious look in Leto’s direction, she departed to find one of the keep housekeepers.

“I hope so too imp, I really hope so,” Vic said tiredly. 

Ellowynne hurried on her way; she hated taking too much time away from her father whilst he lay in the infirmary, though privately she admitted to herself that it felt refreshing to get away from the smells of the infirmary and stretch her legs a little. 

The housekeeper was happy to make the arrangements to open up her father’s room and lay fresh bedding, moving their possessions over to the new room. The woman took the request to open up Hal’s old room for a guest in her stride and said it would be done inside the hour.

Ellowynne ran into Callus on her way back to the infirmary; he was on his way to join his sister for lunch and gave her a cheery grin as they swung into step together.

“Your uncle’s been a bit of an arse, Cal,” remarked Ellowynne as they headed through the hallways in the direction of the infirmary. “He yanked _mi Zio_ out of the Rookery and teleported him straight to the foot of Father’s bed. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but Uncle Vic really raked him over the coals for it.”

“What is he being an arse about exactly? That fellow that looks like papa? How is he anyway? After he saw me, he went to pieces a bit,” Cal replied. 

“He accused _Zio_ of being too keen to abandon Father and Uncle Fenris and hop into bed with his mirror self,” replied Ellowynne darkly. “I could have zapped him on the spot for sheer anger myself, except you and I both know I’d probably just accidentally fry him with a fireball - I still seem to just reach for fire instinctively when I’m angry, and _Zio_ was clearly in pain. He would have hit the floor if Invictus hadn’t caught him.”

“I will have words with my uncle when I next to see him,” Cal remarked angrily. “Do you need anything aside from getting them squared away with rooms? I’m not sure if this Leto will want to see me considering how he reacted to me. Maybe he doesn’t have a son in his world?” 

Ellowynne glanced down at the floor. “I think he had a son and he died,” she said quietly. “You mustn’t take it too hard if he finds it difficult to see you, Cal. I remember how I felt when I thought Father was dead, and how hard I found it to look at Arden - he just looked so much like Father, and after losing him... I couldn’t bear it.” She drew a deep breath, walling away that remembered pain inside once more. “Hal’s rooms are empty and he... he won’t need them any more. So I asked the housekeeper to make them up for Leto. _Zio_ had offered to let him stay in the Rookery but he doesn’t want to cause more trouble. I thought it might comfort him to be closer though. I’m having father and I’s things moved back to his old rooms as well - it’s closer to the infirmary, so I’ll be able to take breakfast with Pin in the mornings and spend more time near _Zio_ and Father.”

“Alright, I’ll make sure Aeolus leaves Zevran alone for now. I’ll come by and check on you all later ok?” Cal sighed as he considered what it would mean for Fenris to suffer like that. But that meant pondering his own demise and he wasn’t in the mood for it. “I’ll walk you, Imp and then I’m going to find Pin.” 

“She’s working in the far wing of the infirmary,” shrugged Ellowynne. “After how Leto reacted to seeing you, I figured he probably wouldn’t be too comfortable around her either. Besides, I got the distinct impression he doesn’t know how to be around a young woman our age.”

Cal gave her an odd look. “Wynne, you’re only thirteen - hardly _our_ age,” he pointed out.

Ellowynne gave him a coy sidelong glance. “Is that what you really think?” she said quietly. “Do I really _look_ only thirteen, Callus?”

Cal came to a halt and stared at her. “No,” he said slowly. “No, you don’t. You’ve... changed, somehow, Imp. You look older than when we left you here in Skyhold - but we were only gone a few weeks. You look as though we were gone years. If I didn’t know you, I’d take you for sixteen or seventeen.” He shook his head slowly and gestured at her figure. “Void, you’re as tall as I am now - and I know I’m not exactly short for an elf!”

Ellowynne chuckled quietly. “Callus, my father is nearly six and a half feet tall,” she pointed out. “Is it any wonder that I’d be tall as well? I take after my father in that.”

Cal shook his head. “I know Anders is tall - he’s a full head taller than I am. But you were a full head shorter than I was when we left you. Humans don’t grow _that_ fast in only a few weeks.”

“A few weeks for _you_ , perhaps,” said Ellowynne. “But it was far longer for me.” She glanced away, a distant look in her eyes.

Callus took a step closer to her. “Imp - _Wynne_ ,” he said in a lower voice. “Something happened. I’m not the only one who’s noticed - Pin and Marian are worried about you too, and I know your father was concerned as well. Please - I know we’re not related by blood, but - you’re like my little sister. Won’t you tell me what happened to you?”

Ellowynne had folded her arms to hug them tightly to her chest; she glanced back to him, her eyes still distant, as though they saw through him to somewhere in her memories. “It was in the Arbor Wilds,” she said softly. “Lady insisted on pulling me into the woods, though I couldn’t tell why. We found elven ruins - ancient ones, they must have dated from before the fall of Arlathan. And... I met someone. An elf, but not like you, or my _Zio_ , or your father. He wasn’t Dalish, either. He knew I had elf blood in me; I think perhaps that was why he talked to me. And he knew who my father is. He told me his name was Solas, though I think he’d had other names before.”

She smiled faintly. “Solas is a very powerful mage. He showed me the way to an eluvian, and we went through to this strange place within the Fade - like a world between worlds, in a way. He has a home there, and that’s where he taught me. I have no idea how long I stayed there, but I learned so much with him; I scarcely noticed the passing of time, though I missed you all terribly. But when Solas decided he had taught me enough, he led me through an eluvian to a place just outside the walls of Adamant.”

She glanced back to Callus. “So you see, I don’t look thirteen, Callus, because I’m _not_ thirteen. And I’ve changed in ways I can’t begin to describe to you. My magic is far stronger and surer, and I’ve seen and done things you could barely dream of.”

Callus could only stare at her. “Ellowynne... this Solas... don’t you realise, he’s who the remains of the Inquisition has been hunting for years?” he said slowly. “Hal, Mythal and Arden were searching everywhere for him; they were working to thwart his plans everywhere they could!”

She gave him an odd little smile. “Oh, I knew,” she said quietly. “And I know about his plans. Why do you think he changed me so much?”

Callus grasped her by the biceps. “Ellowynne,” he said sombrely. “What did he do to you?”

She tossed her head and laughed. “Callus, he brought out my elven heritage - the blood and the magic I inherited from my mother! He gave me my birthright - the one I was denied because I was taken from my mother as a babe and never knew her. The one I was denied because elves are viewed as less than human, and elven mages even more so - particularly in the Circle. He taught me what I truly am and what I could one day be.”

“And did he tell you that he was the one who created the Veil?” demanded Callus darkly. “Did he tell you what he told Papa, Invictus, Zevran and the others - that he plans to destroy this world and restore the elven world of old, wiping them out? Do you realise that means he will wipe out your father as well?”

“Oh yes,” replied Ellowynne quietly, her expression now serious. “But I’m going to protect my father. Solas taught me much, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to what he’s doing. Or that I’ll help him destroy everything I love.”

“Well... I’m glad to hear it,” said Callus as he dropped his hands. He shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure what to make of this, Imp. Though - ‘Imp’ doesn’t seem right for you anymore, does it? You’re not a child anymore.”

“No, I’m not,” she nodded. “Were I a Ferelden peasant I’d likely be married off by now. And if I were back in the Circle I would be a Harrowed mage instead of a free woman. I ceased to be a child the day I set out from Skyhold to find my father.” She regarded Callus steadily. “I’d appreciate it if you speak of none of this to anyone apart from Pin and Marian,” she added. 

“Ellowynne, we have to tell _someone_ about Solas!” argued Callus. “People have been hunting for him - there’s so much you need to tell us of his plans!”

“And I will - but not yet,” replied Ellowynne. “Not whilst my father is so ill. I must tell my father first what has happened before I will share it with anyone else save you.”

“And what if Solas makes his move before Anders wakes up?” retorted Callus. “What if -”

“He won’t,” said Ellowynne firmly. “He is not yet ready.”

Callus shook his head slowly. “I really hope for all our sakes that you’re right,” he said heavily. “You’re asking me to have a lot of trust in you, Wynne.”

“I appreciate that,” she replied. “And thank you for it.” She glanced back up the hall in the direction of the infirmary. “We should go,” she added. “Invictus will be wondering where I am.”

They headed on in silence. 

Ellowynne had given Callus much to think about.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Leto's Thedas, no-one is sleeping easy.

Fenris, Zevran, Dorian and Josephine had talked and plotted before the Antivan ambassador departed to pass word quietly among her people and begin to set their plans in motion. They had sent out for food; they ate in silence once she had gone.

Dorian had pulled out a spare comforter and moved to the couch; Zevran had poured wine for them all and drank his down swiftly before returning to the bed; it was perhaps an hour after the midnight bell that the room was finally in darkness.

Fenris found himself lying sleepless, staring up at the canopy of Dorian’s bed. He could hear Dorian breathing slowly and deep, far under in dreams. Beside Fenris, Zevran’s breathing was quiet and soft - but that meant nothing; Fenris knew that in any Thedas, the Antivan elf were capable of feigning sleep so well that certainly _he_ couldn’t tell the difference. Zevran lay curled away from Fenris upon the far side of the bed, face buried in the pillow. Fenris had to fight hard against the urge to close the distance between them and curl protectively around the other elf - there was no telling how this Zevran might react if awake, and if asleep then he might react badly when he finally awoke. 

Fenris found himself going over the plans for the morrow over and over. So much hinged on how many members of the Inquisition Josephine could win over to their side. If Cassandra came down on the Inquisitor’s side then they’d be facing not just the possibility of all the armed guards and those few templars that had joined this version of the Inquisition, but also reinforcements arriving at some point - but even if she came down on theirs, it would take a few days for ravens to reach her in Nevarra. 

And Leto’s sister Varania was a member of the Inquisition - Fenris wasn’t sure what to make of that, and he had no way of knowing which side she’d throw in with. She was an unknown. And from what he’d learned of his daughter in this Thedas, she might throw in with Vengeance out of pure spite. That thought actually hurt; he pushed the thought aside, unwilling to contemplate that pain too deeply right now. There was too much at stake here.

The plan called for Zevran to feign being still wounded, thus giving Fenris and Dorian an excuse to go with him. The Antivan had anointed a slim, sharp stiletto blade with sufficient magebane to hopefully render the Inquisitor temporarily incapacitated, but using it would necessitate Zevran getting close enough to Vengeance to place himself in danger. If the magebane failed to quell the demon then Vengeance could easily kill the Spymaster before Fenris or Dorian could do anything to stop him. But Zevran had the best chance of any of them of getting close enough to the Inquisitor to take him down.

They had no idea if it were even possible to free Anders from the demon, and so much hinged on whether Josephine and her people were successful. She had taken messages from Zevran to his own agents with her; Zevran had told her where and how to pass on the messages, but if even one missive fell into the wrong hands then it could spell disaster. This time tomorrow, they could have taken control of the whole Inquisition - or they could all be dead. And so much was now out of Fenris’ hands.

On the other side of the bed, Zevran twitched suddenly and then gave a low groan before murmuring something into his pillow, and suddenly Fenris remembered Zevran’s comment of that morning, when he had mentioned being a restless sleeper.

The elf reached over and gently shook the Antivan, hopeful he wouldn’t wake up and stab him out of reflex. “Zevran...you’re dreaming, it’s ok,” he said quietly in the blond’s ear. “It’s just me, you’re safe here.” 

“Dead,” choked Zevran as he shivered. “Dead, they’re all dead, I killed them... the blood, the smell, I....” He twisted about in the bed, tossing his head restlessly on the pillow. “Don’t make me go down there, don’t make me do this....” He groaned and lapsed into half-articulated Antivan once more.

“ _Carissimi, wake up. No one is making you do anything. Come back to us, please?_ ” Fenris pleaded in Antivan, even daring to pull the smaller elf into his arms and hold him. “ _It’s ok, no one is dead, there’s no blood. Come back, carissimi._ ”

Zevran‘s body jerked as he suddenly snapped awake, a look of terror briefly visible in his golden eyes before they turned empty and flat, chillingly, a moment before he frenziedly tried to pull himself out of Fenris’ arms, one hand scrabbling beneath his pillow for the ever-present knife that Fenris knew the Antivan must have placed there before sleeping.

“Stop, you don’t need that knife. Relax, it’s just me - Fenris,” he said as he pulled Zevran closer so he couldn’t get the knife or any poison he might have hidden. “Look at me.”

Zevran continued to struggle for a moment before he blinked slowly and recognition dawned in his eyes as they finally focused on Fenris’ face, and the dreadful empty look left them. “Fenris?” he whispered. “I... I was dreaming....” He ran a hand slowly over his face and exhaled on a low sigh. “I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you. I did say I am a restless sleeper, no?”

“I wasn’t asleep, it's no bother,” Fenris said as he relaxed his grip, and caressed the other elf’s face. “I wish I could get Leto back, first to beat him and then for your sake,” he said quietly. 

Zevran had turned his face towards the touch unthinkingly, as though seeking even that rare touch of affection. He opened his eyes and stared up at Fenris. “For my sake? Perhaps I should pray you cannot, but then I cannot ask you to remain here for my sake when you have loved ones in your own world,” he murmured. “It seems that at long last I can see what Josie has tried to tell me for so long... I cannot deny it any longer, hmm? I am... afraid of Leto. Of what he can do to me. And yet I do love him. It is true that I goaded him, but... a good man would not have gone so far, would he, Fenris? I offered you provocation enough, and you rose to it only once - and you did not push your attack when you had me vulnerable and close to dying there before you. You... you wished to protect me from my own agent, and you are going to take over this Inquisition rather than let Vengeance threaten me.” He stared into Fenris’ eyes. “What manner of man are you, Fenris, that you would do this? What manner of man is Leto, that I think he would not?”

“I’m not a good man, Zevran; my own version of you warned me that my anger, the hate, that I can so easily harbor such malice in me... it was poisoning me as surely as a blade or one of his concoctions. Maybe it’s guilt over what I could have become that drives me to make this right, or maybe there’s some reason I was sent here instead of home. I don’t have much faith, but this seems more than a coincidence.” Fenris closed his eyes for a moment, he felt overwhelmed with missing _his_ beloved and he was worried for their plan. Soon he felt a thumb against his cheek and wetness though he hadn’t realized he’d started to cry.

“I have never truly believed in the Maker,” confessed Zevran softly. “But perhaps I should thank him for whatever stray chance sent you here instead of home, or else I think that tomorrow I would die. Perhaps I would have died before ever reaching this night. And it would have been believing that I deserved all that I have done and that has happened. You have been a breath of fresh air in a stagnant room; an opened door in a darkened room where perhaps we had all forgotten that there even _was_ a door. Me, Josie - Dorian, you are changing us all and showing us we do not have to live like this, and -”

“- and Dorian _was_ sleeping, but is now rather not,” came the magister’s sleepy voice from the direction of the couch. 

“I’m sorry, I should have been quieter,” Fenris said as he sat up and looked to the magister. “Take the bed, I can’t sleep anyway.” 

Dorian sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he stretched with a drowsy groan. “Dumat, this couch is less comfortable than I remembered,” he muttered. “I shan’t say no, for the sake of my back if nothing else.” 

He got to his feet and stumbled over towards the bed as Zevran sat up; the elf put out a hand to steady him as the human nearly walked into the bedpost, blind in the dark in a way that the two elves were not. As Fenris rose from the bed, Zevran moved further back on the bed, drawing the human mage after him.

“Zevran? Is that you?” muttered Dorian. “ _Venhedis_ , can’t see a damned thing -” 

He gestured, and a small globe of magelight popped into existence above his head. “Ah, that’s better,” he said as he glanced around for Fenris. “Fenris? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice softer as his gaze fell on the taller elf’s wet cheeks.

Fenris looked away and tried to wipe his cheeks dry. “Just falling apart is all, hating that your version of me is what I could have become without trying to temper myself. What my Zevran warned me I was becoming and I hate that you both have been hurt so much by him.” He sniffed and turned away so they wouldn’t see him come undone. “Forgive me, I guess I just hit my breaking point finally. You should sleep, I’ll be ok I think.” 

Dorian turned to face Fenris properly and made to rise from the bed and follow him, but Zevran suddenly leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the startled mage, resting his chin upon Dorian’s shoulder. 

“Now, now, dear Dorian,” he murmured quietly as the magister stiffened. “I think perhaps it is _I_ who should apologise, hmm? It was my dream that woke me and disturbed Fenris, and so it is really me who is the cause of _your_ disturbed sleep. And I think you should stay exactly where you are and give Fenris a moment, hmm?”

“Zevran, I can’t just sit here and -”

“Oh, but you can,” murmured Zevran. “And I think you will, no? Stay where you are and wait.”

“Damn you,” growled Dorian. “This game again? Zevran, I -”

“I am not playing a game,” said Zevran darkly. “Not any longer. Listen to me very carefully, Dorian; when a man is not used to showing weakness before others, it is not pleasant to have others make something of it. Were I in Fenris’ shoes? I think I would sooner die than have others watch. So. You will stay where you are, and we let Fenris have time and space. He is far from home and this world is not gentle to any of us.”

Dorian pondered Zevran’s words then sighed. “Forgive me, Fenris,” he said quietly. 

Zevran held onto him for a moment longer then lay back upon the pillows. “Dorian,” he said after a moment in a conversational tone. “That couch of yours... if it has made you uncomfortable, I am thinking that it will be far worse for Fenris, no? This bed of yours, it is perhaps not so roomy for three men - but I am slender and smaller than either of you. I do not take up so much room as either of you. There is no reason why we should not all three share the bed. And we are all awake now in any case....”

“Zevran, what in Dumat’s name are you suggesting?” asked Dorian slowly. As he turned and stared at the elf, Zevran rolled onto his side and leaned on one arm, resting his cheek on his fist as with the other hand he drew the covers away.

“You’re naked!” exclaimed Dorian.

“But of course!” replied the Antivan. “I am in bed; why would I not be naked?” He glanced over towards Fenris and gave him a wink.

Fenris remained turned away and his face in his hands as he listened. He turned at the mention of the Antivan being naked and sighed, figuring nothing would happen even with him bare assed. “My Zevran does the same thing, I see you’re alike in some ways no matter where I am.” The elf got up and poured himself a glass of wine, hopeful it would help him sleep. 

“Wine on an empty stomach will give you a headache come morning,” Zevran pointed out. “But I think I know a better way to tire yourself out enough for sleep, hmm?”

“Don’t offer what you aren’t willing to give. I’ve already been rebuked once today for simply offering comfort. Just go to sleep, I’ll have water before I lie down again,” Fenris muttered crossly. 

Zevran arched an eyebrow as the other elf failed to respond. With a sidelong glance to Dorian, he sat up then rose from the bed to move around it and approach Fenris. “Have you learned so little of me then?” he murmured. “Zevran Arainai never offers something without being willing to give it.”

He halted in front of Fenris, then before the other elf could fully register what he was doing the Antivan had dropped to his knees, reached for the ties of his pants and bent his head to swallow Fenris’ cock down.

That almost made the elven warrior drop his glass on the blond’s head in surprise. “Zev…” he whispered as he let his other hand drift to card through the blond hair. 

The blond elf glanced up at him as he swallowed Fenris down again, and to Fenris’ surprise he felt his cock sliding into Zevran’s throat as the Antivan took him in fully. Zevran gave him a wink then closed his eyes and moaned, the vibrations going straight to Fenris’ groin.

“Please… I can’t take this if you mean to just get me off quickly.” Fenris carded his fingers through the other elf’s hair shakily. Fenris closed his eyes when he felt Dorian at his back, the other man’s arm around him gently tugging him back. “Please…” he asked quietly.

Zevran pulled back slowly and curled his hand around the base of Fenris’ cock, pumping it as he glanced up at Fenris again. “Nothing could be furthest from my mind,” said the Antivan quietly. There was a far-away look in his eyes. “Many things may happen tomorrow; I may die, or yet wish I were, if Vengeance has his way and my blade does not take him down. I do not look to get you off, Fenris - not yet. Maybe I am doing this as much for me as for you, eh? And perhaps this is something we all need. All men must die, my friend; no-one knows that better than an assassin. And every assassin knows that each day may be their last. In the Crows, we had a tradition - the night before a mission which a Crow thought he might not return from, he would make love to anyone who wished it, because he might never get the chance again so he wished to feel life before facing death.” He smiled with remembered sadness. “I did not sleep, the night before I set out to kill the Warden. I lived and loved, all the night long.” His eyes slowly focused on Fenris again.

“Let me do this for you, my friend,” he said softly. “For both of you, if you wish it. And if you choose to reciprocate, I would welcome it.”

“Would you think me weak if I asked for you to be gentle with me, both of you?” Fenris asked softly, his hand covering Dorian’s as he tried to keep himself together. He had to keep calm until their coup was done but in that moment he needed something to ground him.

“I would not,” said Zevran softly.

“Nor would I,” murmured Dorian quietly from behind Fenris. His voice still sounded tired, but it had lost the sleepy slur it had carried earlier. “Zevran, are you sure you want me here as well?”

“I will not touch you if you prefer I do not,” said Zevran, then lowered his head slightly. “I am aware there has never been any love lost between us, after all.”

“I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re getting at,” said Dorian thoughtfully. “You still scare the shit out of me, but I don’t hate you. Nor, before you ask, do I pity you. Why don’t we just... see where this goes, hmm? Just for tonight. We can worry about what happens afterwards if we all live through tomorrow.”

Fenris pulled Dorian’s hand up and kissed his palm gently before slotting his fingers between the other man’s and letting himself be held. “I’ve never done this before, at least with my own Zevran and Dorian. I don’t think Dorian would believe it were he to see how I am with my husband. I wish...never mind, I can’t have that here, I need to stop asking.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side to allow the magister at his back easier access. 

Zevran studied him for a moment, then leaned forward and gently took Fenris back into his mouth again, his eyes closed as he worked Fenris’ cock with tongue and throat.

“You’ve never been tempted, or the opportunity never arose?” asked Dorian as he leaned down to brush a gentle kiss at the corner of his jaw then another to the side of Fenris’ neck.

“Opportunity, I do not think my Zevran thinks of Dorian like that. Not for lack of appreciating his looks but he never asked what I did with him when I returned to my husbands,” Fenris replied softly as he moaned at the feel of Zevran sucking him slow and taking him all the way down. “Fuck, this feels good.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever dared let myself think about Zevran in _that_ way,” murmured Dorian, his breath warm against Fenris’ skin. “He was Leto’s and strictly off limits, even if he didn’t scare me half to death. Certainly I never dared even fantasise about it - simply wouldn’t have occurred to me.” He pressed a kiss to Fenris’ shoulder, and then Fenris felt the magister’s lips curl in a smile. “Though I would certainly be the first to admit he is very easy on the eyes.”

Zevran opened his eyes to glance up at Dorian and smiled around Fenris’ cock before giving Dorian a wink. Then he closed his eyes and moaned as he took Fenris in right to the hilt. Fenris heard Dorian give a very soft “ _Venhedis...._ ” and then Fenris felt something pressing against him that indicated it wasn’t just Fenris’ groin that hedonistic sound was stirring.

As Zevran kept sucking him, Fenris lost his grip on the wine he was holding but didn’t move when he heard the splash and thump of it hitting the carpet. He was fully into how both men were making him feel. Dorian’s soft kisses were making him feel warm, and Zevran was pushing him close to the edge already. “Please...more,” he begged them. 

Zevran drew back slowly, curling his hand around the base of Fenris’ cock once more and squeezing slightly until Fenris felt the urge settle a little. The Antivan opened his eyes and licked his lips. “I can taste that you are close,” he said, a little breathlessly.

“Hmm, perhaps we should take this to the bed,” suggested Dorian quietly. “I’d suggest fewer clothes for you and I as well, Fenris; Zevran is making me feel positively overdressed.”

“As long as you both keep touching me, you can do what you want,” Fenris said before he was tugged to his feet and steered to the bed. He didn’t fuss as he felt Zevran undressing him quickly, directing him to get out of his sleep pants and sitting. 

Dorian was stripping out of his own clothes even as the Antivan was settling himself between Fenris’ thighs once more. “Fenris, how close are you?” asked the magister quietly as Zevran swallowed the taller elf’s cock down once more. Zevran’s eyes were closed as he moved forward until his nose was pressed against Fenris’ abdomen; the Antivan swallowed, the ripple of pressure doing wonderful things to Fenris’ cock.

“ _Close, so close!_ ” Fenris replied in Tevene, his hands gripping the covers so he wouldn’t yank on the blond’s hair as hard as he wanted to. “Let me...Maker... _please_....” 

Zevran pulled away and gasped for breath; he gazed up at Fenris, panting slightly, his eyes a little glazed. “Not yet, I think,” he murmured. “It would hardly be fair for you to come so soon, hmm?” His own erection rested heavily against his thighs as he knelt there between Fenris’ feet.

“Maybe you should do a little of that reciprocating Zevran mentioned, hmm?” suggested Dorian as he folded his clothes and laid them aside. “Zevran... how far may I go with you?”

“As far as you wish,” shrugged Zevran. “But only so far as you are comfortable with.”

“Please… don’t leave me like this, I’m so close!” Fenris panted as he watched Zevran sit back. 

“And leave Zevran like that?” said Dorian. 

“Ah, but if Fenris is like Leto, I’m sure that if he comes, he will still be hard. Has Leto never taken you twice in one night, Dorian?” remarked Zevran as he gazed up at Fenris, his mouth so temptingly close to the head of Fenris’ cock that Fenris could feel the Antivan’s warm breath upon its wet head.

“You know full well he has,” replied Dorian archly. “And so has Fenris, for the record. I’m well aware of what he can do. I simply think that maybe you deserve a little treat before he comes, hmm?”

“Be careful, Dorian, or I might start to think that you don’t just not hate me... but perhaps you might even like me, hmm?” remarked Zevran with a lazy grin.

“You might just find out shortly,” said Dorian as he fisted his own growing erection. “Because I think Fenris ought to pay attention to you... and I think maybe so should I.”

Zevran blinked at him, then glanced up at Fenris.

The elf was staring at him, hopeful he’d go back to sucking him off. His hands were deep in the covers, clenching his fists as he forced himself not to beg. “What do you want of me, tell me?” he asked while staring down Zevran.

“I believe the man _already_ told you, Fenris,” said Dorian as he came to stand beside Zevran, his hands on his hips. Zevran glanced up at him, then turned slightly and leaned forward to trail his tongue slowly along Dorian’s cock. The magister inhaled sharply and lowered a hand to rest it gently upon Zevran’s head. “Not... not what I was quite intending,” he managed as he stared down at the blond elf.

“Yes, ser,” Fenris said as he turned and dropped gracefully to his knees and looked up to Dorian. “We can share you, if it's ok?” 

“I -” Dorian broke off with a sharp inhalation of breath as Zevran swallowed him down. “ _Vishante kaffas_... I’d rather intended that we both... both minister to _him_ ,” he replied, managing to keep his voice steady even as Zevran took him down to the hilt in one smooth movement then deliberately swallowed around the cock sheathed in his throat. “He - he’s remarkably skilled, isn’t he?” he added. “Really should be rewarded....”

“Should I reward him, ser?” Fenris asked as he glanced at Zevran before looking up at Dorian again. Zevran’s eyes were closed, his hands resting on his thighs, his own cock neglected as he swallowed Dorian down again, as though too absorbed in what he was doing to pay attention to what they were saying. Or perhaps he were merely content to leave it up to the two of them what happened to him; with this Zevran, Fenris honestly couldn’t say.

“I had in mind for us both to reward him,” replied Dorian, his own breath quickening in spite of the calmness of his tone. “In fact -” He had to break off a moment as Zevran swallowed again; Fenris found himself wondering if the Antivan were even capable of breathing with his mouth and throat so full. “In f-fact I think after this, Zevran has definitely - _Venhedis!!_ \- definitely earned a reward from both of us, wouldn’t you agree?” he finally managed to finish in a rush as Zevran’s movements sped up slightly.

“Whatever you want, Dorian,” Fenris said as he stood and gently tugged at Zevran so they could reward the blond elf. Fenris bit his lip as he pondered the Antivan laid out before them, his gaze drawn to the other elf’s cock before he positioned himself to share with their new bedmate. 

Dorian was slicking himself up with a vial of oil; he gestured briefly and Fenris realised the magister had cast a silencing spell upon the room. Zevran lay there, merely watching Fenris as he panted softly, breathless.

“Do be a help and get Zevran open will you, Fenris?” asked Dorian as he fisted his own cock and stared down at them. “I know Leto is much larger than I, but I still prefer not to make him scream or hurt him.”

Zevran glanced up at him; his only expression of surprise however was the way his eyebrows raised ever so briefly before he looked back to Fenris and merely drew up his knees as he parted his legs. 

Fenris nodded and took the oil, gently sliding two fingers into Zevran, twisting them just so as he bent and took the elf in his mouth. He kept going even when he felt his hair pulled hard after adding a third finger. Zevran inhaled sharply; as Fenris twisted his wrist slightly on the next sliding thrust of his fingers, the Antivan threw his head back and bit his lip with a stifled groan, arching his back. Belatedly he seemed to realise how tight he was grasping Fenris’ hair and loosened his fingers.

“ _M-mi dispiace_ ,” he managed breathlessly. He threaded his fingers into his own hair instead; as Fenris’ fingers repeated the twisting thrust again, he tightened them, clutching his own hair painfully tight as he groaned again.

“Is he ready?” asked Dorian as he knelt on the bed. Zevran nodded.

“ _Si, si_ \- I am ready!” he managed, and then cried out at Fenris’ next thrust.

Fenris pulled his fingers free and sat back with a questioning look to Dorian, eager to please but unsure what the other men wanted of him. He found a towel that had been left near the bed to wipe his fingers clean before watching them and waiting for a hint of what was needed. 

Dorian gently guided Zevran to sit up as he knelt behind him; the Antivan rapidly grasped what was happening and allowed the magister to lift him up slightly as he straddled Dorian’s lap, facing Fenris. He sank down onto Dorian’s cock in one smooth thrust, and groaned as he let his head fall back, his eyes closed.

“Now, Fenris,” said Dorian in a conversational tone as he wrapped an arm around Zevran’s waist and began gently thrusting up into the elf’s body, “I suggest you give Zevran’s cock a little of the attention he was giving yours earlier, hmm? And then maybe once he comes, we can turn him around and you can take him.”

“ _Si...si_ , I would like that very much,” breathed Zevran, his eyes still closed.

“Whatever you wish; I’m happy to serve, Dorian,” Fenris said before kneeling before Zevran and resuming sucking the smaller elf’s cock. He let his eyes close, and his mind focus on what he was doing as he felt a hand in his hair again, tugging in time with his movements. 

As Dorian sped up, Zevran’s breath came as faster pants and then half-stifled cries as Zevran crested closer and closer, helpless between the two men. 

“So - so close,” he managed to gasp out in warning.

“Let go,” Dorian managed to grunt out as he thrust faster. “Fenris -”

The larger elf bobbed his head faster, let his eyes close as he felt how hard Zevran was tugging on his hair, but he let them both lead him. He kept sucking until he felt the Antivan’s cock pulsing, filling his mouth almost faster than he could swallow. He didn’t pull away until he’d taken all the blond elf gave him, only pulling back to catch his breath.

Zevran had come almost silently before slumping back against Dorian, his head resting on the magister’s shoulder, only Dorian’s arm around his waist holding him in place as the mage redoubled his efforts, chasing his own climax until he came with a loud groan. His movements slowed, and finally the only sound to be heard was the harsh panting of all three men.

It was some minutes before Dorian managed to speak. “Fenris, am I right in thinking you’re still hard?” he managed.

The elf glanced up at Dorian then back down to the bedding. “Yes ser, since I haven’t been allowed to come yet.” 

“Zevran, how are you - do you think you could handle Fenris, or would you rather rest?” asked Dorian gently.

“I can handle it,” said Zevran as he slowly lifted his head and gazed at the other elf. “If Fenris truly desires to have me?” There was a note of almost bleak vulnerability in the elf’s voice; as Fenris glanced up at him, he recalled that Zevran had good reason to question Dorian and he now - after all, how many times had Zevran offered himself to Fenris thus far, only for the white-haired elf to deny him? 

“I desire you Zevran, how do you want me?” Fenris asked softly as he risked a glance at the blond elf. 

“Upon my back,” said Zevran softly. “So that I may see your eyes.”

“Zevran,” said Dorian quietly. “Did Leto ever let you lie upon your back? So you could see his eyes?”

“Very rarely,” Zevran whispered. “If I had pleased him. Sometimes, he would let me ride him. But... I do not wish to ride tonight.” He gazed at Fenris, as though afraid he would be denied this.

“What do you want ser? I’m happy to let you do as you wish with me,” Fenris offered as he watched Zevran get on his back and get comfortable. Dorian helped Zevran lay back, placing a pillow behind the Antivan elf’s head and making sure Zevran was settled comfortably before tending to himself.

“I am ready for you,” said Zevran, then held out a hand to Fenris as he parted his legs once more.

Fenris took the oil handed to him and poured more than he’d normally use even though the Antivan had already been taken once that night. He was gentle as he entered Zevran, almost quiet until he sped up his thrusts, eager to make the smaller elf feel good. 

Zevran gazed up at him, hooking his hands behind his knees so he could spread himself further open for Fenris and canting his hips until Fenris’ thrusts were hitting his sweet spot and he threw his head back with a low cry. Each thrust of Fenris’ hips elicited another panted cry, their pitch growing slowly higher as Fenris sped up. 

Then Dorian was there again, one hand carding through Zevran’s hair briefly before he slipped his arm around the Antivan’s shoulders, with the other hand reaching down to Zevran’s neglected cock which had grown hard again. As Dorian pumped his hand in rhythm with Fenris, Zevran steadily came undone until he came, helplessly, between them both once more. Dorian held him close as Fenris chased his own climax until finally he was braced on his hands over Zevran as he snapped his hips harder.

Dorian reached down and curled his hand around Zevran’s softening cock; and on the next stroke, he let fly a burst of raw magic that reverberated through the Antivan’s body as he shuddered and cried out, coming again for a third time; as the magic rolled through the smaller elf it coursed into Fenris, and he came hard. His thrusts slowed until he was simply rolling his hips against Zevran, his arms trembling as he held himself up over the smaller man.

Fenris felt himself slipping so he rolled to the side and laid there, slowing his breathing until he felt his heartbeat slow down until he felt somewhat calm. He laid there for a while, quiet as he pondered what they’d just done. He’d gone a bit submissive, and was still in that headspace if he was honest with himself. He finally turned to look at Dorian, worried that he’d crossed a line with them. 

Dorian was holding Zevran in his arms, the Antivan completely enervated as he lay there limply, his eyes closed as he gasped for breath. The magister was wiping his hand on the towel which Fenris had thrown aside; as Fenris watched, Dorian then gently brushed stray sweat-dampened strands of hair away from Zevran’s closed eyes, tucking them gently behind his upswept ears before pressing a light kiss to Zevran’s forehead. Then he lifted his head to meet Fenris’ glance.

“Dumat,” he whispered. “That....” He let the word trail off, then glanced down at Zevran whose breathing was gradually slowing and deepening. “I think he’s passed out,” Dorian murmured, then looked up at Fenris again. “Fenris... what we just did....” He swallowed hard. “I... don’t think things can ever go back to how they were before. This... it’s... _changed_ things between us now. And I don’t know how Leto will react to that.” The look in his storm-grey eyes was raw and vulnerable. “I can’t - I _won’t_ let him mistreat Zevran anymore. But things can never be the same again between us. You... you’ve changed us, Fenris.” His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head on one side. “And don’t think I didn’t notice when you called me ser,” he added. “What was that? You turned rather... meek there. Submissive. You said you wanted to serve...Why?”

Fenris sat up and started to clean himself up before replying. “I’m usually submissive with my Zevran, sometimes with my Dorian. I was already feeling...needy and it came out while we were in bed. Apologies, I just...sometimes I get into that headspace when I’m feeling vulnerable. It’s not a bad thing, but neither of you know me as well as the versions of you in my life. Zevran can tell when I want to give up control, when I get a certain way in bed; and he knows what I need. 

“I shouldn’t have put you in that position, forgive me. If this happens again I’ll keep myself...I will try not to slide into being that way when you don’t like it.” He rose to get wet towels from the basin so he could properly clean them up.

“Did it bother you then?” Fenris asked as he cleaned Zevran up. Dorian gently rolled the somnolent elf onto his side so Fenris could gently wipe the traces of their lovemaking from Zevran’s thighs and entrance. Zevran was so exhausted and deep under that he didn’t stir, limp and pliant in Dorian’s arms. The magister stared down at Zevran’s face, peaceful in sleep and looking curiously younger, before answering.

“Leto would never submit to anyone, in bed or out of it - least of all a Tevinter magister,” he replied quietly. “He’d done enough of that whilst a slave. Our relationship - such as it was - was always conducted upon his terms. And I think perhaps it amused him to have the dreaded Crow Master be subservient to him, from what you have said of their relationship. So... I suppose it surprised me. It was unexpected. It was clear what Zevran wanted - needed, I suppose; a distraction, an affirmation he was not yet dead - and a way to be exhausted enough to sleep.”

He finally looked up at Fenris, a small frown upon his face. “I honestly thought - well, that you desired him, and thus wanted to give him what he needed. It didn’t occur to me until you called me ser that you had your own reasons for accepting. In a way, you _used_ me, Fenris, and I’m not entirely sure how I should feel about that. And yet... what happened here, tonight... that would not otherwise have happened, I think, without you. And I’m not sure how I should feel about that now - except that I can’t bear the thought of things returning to how they were. Suppose we actually pull this off? What then?” His frown deepened as he gestured towards the writing desk, strewn with notes and diagrams - the product of Dorian’s research, theories and inspiration. “Say my ideas about the nature of your abilities are correct and I can somehow manage to find a way to send you home - what then? Leto will return and take over the Inquisition, and he will no doubt expect things otherwise to resume much as they were before, with Zevran bearing the brunt of his anger and I his demanding libido - his tame magister.” He shook his head slowly. 

“I won’t step tamely back into that role - not knowing now what he and Vengeance between them have done to Zevran. I won’t let him be treated that way anymore. Nor will I tamely sit by and watch him whoring himself to his agents to buy their loyalty. I want something better than that for him.”

Fenris paused in the act of gently applying salve to Zevran, to glance up at him with a frown of his own. “Perhaps you should ask Zevran how he feels about that,” he replied. “If he’s anything like my Zevran back home then he won’t appreciate you making plans about him over his head.”

Dorian’s face softened as he glanced down at Zevran. “Of course,” he said quietly. “But I can’t think he would willingly choose to return to that life if there were another way open to him. I want him to have that choice. I don’t think Zevran has ever had much freedom to choose in his life.”

“Dorian,” said Fenris gravely. “How do you actually feel about Zevran? The way you’re talking about him -”

Dorian glanced back up at him. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “That’s just it. I can feel that something has changed between us.” He shook his head and sighed. “Maybe all this was just sex to Zevran and nothing more, but... but I don’t think I can do that any longer. I had a whole year of that with Leto, us both denying it and yet somehow always ending up in bed together and at some point, I found myself falling in love with him. You’ve only heard of the dark side of his nature and the harm that he has done, but... Fenris, believe me, he had his gentle, loving side. The just, true, honest and compassionate side. Do you think I could truly fall in love with a man who had no redeeming qualities at all?”

He lowered his gaze to Zevran’s sleeping face again. “You have no idea how long I’d dreamed of hearing him call me _amatus_... what it meant to me when he finally turned to me, there in the Fade, said it was time to stop this dance we’d been doing so long and called me that. And then, when we woke up and I realised I’d brought the wrong man back?” 

He gently trailed a forefinger lightly over Zevran’s bare shoulder, following one of the curving lines of the tattoo that wound around the elf’s bicep, just below the scar Zevran had mentioned to Fenris the previous day. “I knew I couldn’t do the casual sex thing any longer. And... I don’t know what to hope for, now. Maybe that this will have meant more to Zevran than just one night of passion and then nothing. But it’s not my choice to make. Whatever Zevran chooses, I will abide by that decision. But if he wishes to pursue this thing that lies between us now, then... he will not find me unwilling.”

Zevran gave a small, faint pained grunt as Fenris’ fingers brushed against a sore place inside, and a faint frown creased his brow.

“Fenris, I think maybe that was too much for Zevran,” said Dorian, a note of concern in his voice. “We _did_ rather thoroughly exhaust him.”

“He needs to be fit and well to face Vengeance tomorrow,” said Fenris. He lit his brands and called upon the magic before trailing incorporeal fingers through Zevran’s flesh, sinking his senses into the sleeping man’s body once more. It came easier this time, and his questing mind soon found the areas of sore inflammation that had resulted from the elf being taken twice in such swift succession. Swiftly he set to work to heal him.

Dorian was studying Zevran’s face as the elf slowly relaxed, his brow smoothing over once more as Fenris’ healing relieved the discomfort, allowing Zevran to drop back into deeper sleep once more.

When Fenris had finished, between him he and Dorian were able to settle Zevran into the bed properly, and Dorian spooned up against the elf. He watched as Fenris rose from the bed.

“Not sharing the bed, then?” asked the magister quietly as Fenris crossed to the couch; the tall elf shook his head.

“Go to sleep, Pavus,” he said tiredly. “We have much to do tomorrow and you’ll need your mana.”

Presently he heard Dorian’s breathing slow and deepen as he joined Zevran in slumber; but Fenris sat there awake until long into the night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto sees an unfamiliar side of Zevran, and Anders awakens.

Leto had found the rooms he’d been assigned comfortable but nothing like his quarters at home. It wasn’t to his taste but the world he’d been dropped into wasn’t to his taste either; so a decent sized bed, a borrowed staff and clothes would have to do for the time being. He’d hung his rucksack off the doorhook, but found he couldn’t sleep even when he was alone. The elven mage laid there for some time before there was a knock on the door. 

He tried to ignore the noise, but whoever it was wasn’t leaving. He finally yanked the door open to find Meneris about to knock once more. “What is it?” Leto asked as he stared down at the other elf.

“I wanted to ask you if you needed anything, or if you would join us for dinner Leto?” asked the former Inquisitor as he looked up to find the other elf giving him a decidedly unfriendly look.

“I will have food sent here, I have no desire to be set upon again by your people,” replied the white-haired elf. 

“Do you mean Aeolus? I’m sure he’ll apologize to you when he’s cooled off; it's what he seems to do,” Meneris asked as he followed the taller elf into the room. “Otherwise, no one else should bother you while we try to figure out how to help you get home.” The former Inquisitor sat at the small table and watched the other elf. 

“After the way I’ve been treated here, I don’t trust that anyone else here won’t take umbrage to me being around instead of Fenris. I’ve been seen doing magic, and you certainly made a scene upon finding Dorian unconscious.” Leto folded his arms and stared down the shorter elf.

At that Meneris glanced away in embarrassment. “Well, I was worried he was dead, Leto. Once I’d calmed myself, and spoke with Dorian I realized I’d over-reacted. I took your apology, and no one else is going to harass you Leto.” 

The taller elf scoffed at his words before laying back on the bed. “I don’t believe you, and I would like to be left alone. If I need dinner, I’ll request a tray be sent here. Thank you for checking in on me Inquisitor.” Leto turned away and ignored Meneris, hopeful the other elf would get the hint.

Meneris looked surprised at his shift in attitude but wasn’t surprised. “I guess I’ll leave then, but please don’t turn away from us Leto. I know Dorian is concerned as am I. Our door is open to you.”

The white haired elf turned and glared at him. “Considering you tried to choke me, and the way you greeted me when I came to apologize? I doubt that your door is truly open. I know you all want your Fenris back and I’m just an unwanted interloper. Leave me be, and I’ll stay out of the way until people actually need me.” Leto turned away again and ignored the other elf. 

The former Inquisitor left quietly, his thoughts on how they could help this other version of Fenris feel less unwanted as he made his way back to his husband. 

Alone once more, Leto became aware of just how quiet the tower was. As far as he was aware, he and Zevran above in the Rookery were the only inhabitants of this part of the keep. In his own Thedas, the room below his current quarters would be Dorian’s - but in this world, he knew that Dorian would be in the Inquisitor’s quarters.

He lay there in silence, his own thoughts too loud in his own head. He was suddenly startled out of his introspection by a piercing scream from almost directly overhead. He was up off the bed and halfway to the door before he checked himself.

Overhead he heard Zevran cry out again - a heartwrenching sound that was followed by a low groan. There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of feet limping across the floor in the direction of where Leto remembered the desk being. There was a thump, as of something heavy being dropped, and then muffled swearing before silence once more.

“That’s Zevran’s room,” he said as he considered going to check on the other elf, but hesitated until he heard quiet sobbing again. “Damn me,” Leto muttered before heading up and pushing the door open just enough to see what was happening. 

Zevran was on his knees near the desk, hunched over and weeping dejectedly. His hair was in disarray, tousled from sleep. Near him lay a bottle of brandy upon its side on the floor, the neck broken and brandy seeping into the rug. The Antivan seemed unaware he was being watched as he bowed his head, arms wrapped around his torso, lost in his own misery and grief.

Leto pushed the door open and slipped into the room, approaching quietly. “Zevran?” he asked, unwilling to get stabbed for sneaking up on a man who was deadly as the Crow Master. 

Zevran’s head jerked up and he looked around with wild, red-rimmed eyes. His face was wet with tears. “Who -!” His eyes fell upon Leto and for a moment there was a brief look of wild hope before it died in his amber eyes and he bowed his head. “Leto. I...am sorry, I must have disturbed you. How... how is it that you heard me?”

“I’ve been put in rooms below yours it seems. I wasn’t asleep anyway, today has been...a lot,” Leto said as he approached to rescue what was left of the brandy from seeping into the rug. “Not much left but I think there’s some for you,” he said as he eyed the broken neck of the bottle to check for any loose glass. After pouring and checking again he set the glass on Zevran’s desk before offering a hand to the smaller elf. “Do you wish a hand up?”

Zevran tried to rise but gritted his teeth as his leg protested painfully. Reluctantly, he nodded. “ _Si_... yes. I would appreciate that,” he confessed as he took the proffered hand. As Leto helped him up, Zevran bit his lip and tried to restrain a stifled groan. “My thanks,” he managed before glancing up at Leto. 

“So... you have been given Hal’s old rooms?” He sighed. “I do not think Hal will ever need them again. Perhaps he would be happy to know they are inhabited by a version of his love.” He limped slowly around the desk to drop into the chair before reaching for the brandy. He took a sip, then stared down into his glass.

“I suppose then that you heard me cry out, hmm? Bad dreams. Things I have done - and yet things also that I do not remember doing. For a moment I forgot myself, forgot where I was... and then I remembered, and remembered too that my _carissimi_ is lost.” He was silent for a moment, then whispered softly, “Forgive me.”

“A version of his love? Do you mean that red-headed mage that looked so much like En...Endrin?” Leto asked as he looked for another bottle of drink to soothe the memories that had surfaced. 

Zevran nodded. “When Hal was first touched by Endrin’s spirit, it was his Fenris who found him, as I understand it. And something of that spirit remembered his own Fenris, and perhaps that was the start. But something grew between them. Hal came from another Thedas, you see; he and Arden. Hal fell through a rift into our world, and he was drawn to our Fenris. He accompanied us to Adamant on that first time, and he and Fenris grew very close.” He smiled wistfully, thinking back to a simpler time. “Fenris could see that being in a different world was overwhelming to young Hal, and asked permission to comfort him. And we granted it. In Anders’ case, it was empathy. And I... well. At that time, Fenris and I were... more casual about our relationship. We had taken no vows; he was free to kiss whomsoever he chose, no?”

He sat back and drank more of the brandy as Leto managed to locate another bottle of brandy - this one unopened, the wax seal proclaiming it had come from the Inquisitor’s private cellars. After a little while, Zevran carried on, his voice quiet and tired. “Hal became one of our most valued healers, second only to Anders. We believed Arden dead at Adamant, and so we consented to the relationship that was growing between them. Hal was not part of our marriage when I, Fenris, Invictus and Anders exchanged vows, the night before we slew Corypheus. But he was a part of our group nonetheless, though he did not join our bed.” He glanced away into the dying embers of the fire. “Not until Nevarra,” he added quietly. “And that should not have happened. We knew by then that Arden had lived; he and Hal were guests under our roof. And I should have known better.” He bowed his head.

Leto had tilted his head in confusion, unsure how his counterpart had three spouses and two occasional lovers. “You allowed him to sleep with someone else even after you all were married? This Arden, that was the blond mage that died in the red dragon’s arms then? Did he not speak up about their affair at all? Or did he let his anger fester until it hurt you?” 

“We did not realise Arden was unaware. When Hal and Fenris continued to sleep together, we thought it was with his consent. We did not realise, until I was very foolish and did something that I should not. That... _we_ should not.” His hands curled around the glass; Leto realised they were trembling slightly. “Arden discovered this the following morning. I do not fault him for how he reacted.” He glanced down at his leg, then closed his eyes. “None of that should have happened. He had every right to be angry. And he was treated shamefully for that anger. And yet, at the last... it was he who paid the price for us all.”

Leto frowned at that, angry at the way Zevran was blaming himself. “I can see him being angry, but he crippled you. That is beyond what’s acceptable for a mistake. Believe me, I know too well what its like to go too far in response to a mistake, I wish I didn’t,” the elf admitted. 

Zevran lifted his head to stare up at Leto. “Arden was a good man; a far better man than I. I was already crippled, in truth; it is true that when he lashed out in anger, the old break was too weak and it gave way again - but I had transgressed against him. His anger was a brief thing; he regretted what he had done, and he said so. For what was done to him, how he was treated afterwards....” He glanced back to the fire. “There is a darkness in all men, and sometimes things happen to bring out the worst in us. And yet, I think perhaps he was the best of us all, save Anders.” He closed his eyes briefly. “ _Mi cuore_ ,” he breathed. “He and Arden... we wronged them both, and yet it was they that paid the price. And now Anders lies in the infirmary, Arden is dead, and my _carissimi_ is lost. What is left for Zevran Arainai? A loft full of birds and lonely thoughts.” He closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath that was a half-articulated sob.

Leto wanted to comfort him but he wasn’t sure how, as he’d never seen his own Zevran in such pain. Whenever he’d felt like this, he’d kept it from everyone, even Dorian at times. “Can I do anything for you? I admit I am unused to being the one to comfort someone but you were kind to me earlier.” 

Zevran glanced back to him. “Ah, my friend,” he sighed. “I have disturbed you and kept you from sleep, and you have listened to the ramblings of a useless cripple. And yet you would still seek to comfort me?” He gave Leto a sad smile. “There is a good heart in you, Leto. You are lost in a world not your own, and yet you think of others even as you must feel alone yourself, no?”

The white haired elf laughed at the mention of him having a good heart. “Oh Zevran, my heart is anything but good. It’s broken, as much as I am. Losing Endrin and Callus...enduring the creature that runs the Inquisition in my world? I often think I have lost my mind, or maybe I’m in the Void, and just don’t know it. Being here, seeing another path I could have had; seeing you all so worried for your missing love? I want to hate Fenris, I envy him so much yet, I miss home. I miss my Dorian, my version of you...though I am not kind to him. We’re both broken men, you see. Our world keeps chipping away at anything good that was left in either of us, and I fear when I return...if I return? Things will be different for all of us.” Leto took a long pull from the bottle before offering it to the Antivan. 

“You are unkind to your own Zevran, perhaps, but you have only been kind to me,” shrugged Zevran. He took the bottle and set his empty glass aside in favour of taking a long pull directly from the bottle before settling back into his chair. “I do not think you can be all that bad, my friend. You were impetuous perhaps in how you pursued things, but I see much of my Fenris in you. You are the same man, no? Only circumstances have changed some of who you are. And I cannot judge another when I have so much blood on my own hands.” He lifted a hand and stared at it. “I dreamed of the horrors I have committed... and some that I have not. Perhaps in my uneasiness, my mind showed me what I could become.” He laughed bleakly. “There is little enough left of my soul, and yet it seems I still have enough that I can see ways in which I would lose it all. Zevran Arainai is also not a good man.”

Leto laughed bitterly at the elf’s words, knowing full well how he treated his own Zevran, even his own Dorian. “There is nothing of your Fenris in me, I’m damned well sure of it. I doubt he treats you the way I treat my own Zevran at home. I don’t ...I know he cares for me, but I do not return his love, I spend my anger and hate and fear on him before turning to the one I do care about. I’m not good, and the darkness that men have? I’ve embraced it since my beloved Endrin died, since I lost Anders to the demon that rides him now. I’d just accepted how I feel about Dorian and then this happened! He’s probably happier with your Fenris than I could make him, because I am anything but good; can’t you see that? There is something wrong with me, but I’ve accepted it, and being in my Skyhold makes it worse somehow. I’ve felt so different here, like I can finally breathe and see what in the Void is broken in me and now? Now I ...don’t want to go back. But I can’t stay here, I can’t take over his life and you don’t need me, a monster in your midst.” 

Zevran laughed darkly. “We are all monsters, Leto. I know this only too well. And Fenris has a darkness in him too - one that festers at times until he lashes out at those who love him best. He has spent his anger upon me on occasion. I would sooner he did so than take it out upon Anders however. Invictus is used to his moods, but Anders does not deserve that.” 

He set the bottle down on the desk then, with difficulty, managed to rise from his chair and limped slowly towards Leto. “It seems we have both found ourselves in darkness, my friend,” he said quietly. “It is a lonely place, no?”

“You don’t understand how deep I’ve gone. I doubt your Fenris demands your submission, your mouth and you upon your knees each time you fuck, does he? Or does he use you and leave you in the wee hours to slide into the bed of another, all the while hating himself and feeling more and more guilt for what he’s done to you, does he?” Leto asked as he blinked away tears and looked away, sure he would taste the other man’s blade for what he’d revealed. 

“Upon my knees? No,” replied Zevran as he stared at Leto and took another limping step closer. “Though I would do so if he asked. But use me? Turn away to another? Yes, he has done that. He turned to Hal, to Dorian - and even his own hand rather than touch me when I was ready for him.” He took another step forward. “When I ached for him.”

Gazing up at Leto, he slowly sank to his knees at Leto’s feet. “Is this how he would kneel for you?” he whispered. “Is this how you would have him?”

“No… don’t do this, please. I ...I am, I regret what I have done to him now that I have clarity. Please get up!” Leto said as he backed away from the kneeling elf. 

Zevran regarded him sadly. “Even you will not touch me, then. Is it your own hand you would turn to for comfort?” He bowed his head. “Forgive me. I should not have said that.” He began to slowly and painfully attempt to rise again.

“No, it's not that. I would like… I wouldn’t say no but this is something that still pains you, clearly,” Leto said as he moved to help Zevran back to his feet. “I also admit a little fear after hurting you, and sending Dorian so deep into the Fade the other day.” He looked away and swallowed. “I admit that I worry about Fenris’ brother discovering us if we did comfort each other again, and using that to prove you are replacing him with me,” he said quietly.

Zevran rose painfully with Leto’s aid, his head bowed for a moment as he clutched at his thigh with a low grunt of pain. “Help me to the bed,” he whispered.

As Leto helped him towards the bed, Zevran sighed. “I do not think Aeolus will dare come near me again. Not after the way Invictus laid into him - and I think Ellowynne would castrate him without a second thought. _Il mio bambino_ is a little firebrand I think - much as I imagine her father must have been in his youth. In her I can see that fire, that drive that led him to escape the tower so many times. You should have seen her - ah, but I think you _have_ seen how protective she can be, eh?”

As they reached the bed, Zevran stretched out upon it and groaned in relief. “Damn this leg of mine,” he muttered. “Like this, I am but half a man. It was Ellowynne who had to bring me back here.”

“I wish I could do more for you, but I am a meager healer. It seems Ellowynne knows more of healing than I do. May I try to relieve your pain at least?” Leto asked as he took a chair near the bed. 

“I would welcome any relief you may bring me,” nodded Zevran. “Had you not come, I think I would have resorted to one of my little vials. A little of one of my concoctions in a glass of brandy would send me so deep into sleep that Corypheus himself could not wake me.” He smiled faintly. “Though if you were my Fenris, doubtless you would have other ways to distract me. But he is not a healer.”

“I am unsure I am worthy of distracting you like that, the more you speak of your Fenris and how well loved he is; the more I wish I had simply not returned home than be here. Maybe it’s my punishment for all the evil I’ve done,” Leto said as he called up healing and fell silent as he worked. 

“I think you are not so evil as you think yourself,” replied Zevran then broke off with a low groan as he felt his muscles relax around the knots of pain. “You... you are able to see now what you have done wrong. You can think how to put them right, yes?” He gave a soft gasp as he felt the magic working beneath his skin. It was rough and unschooled; it burned almost like fire rather than the soothing coolness of Anders’ magic, or the gentle blossoming warmth he remembered of Hal’s.

“I’m cursed of Mythal, and I know what I am now that I can see clearly. At least I can do some good while here, if you all will allow me to help.” Leto said quietly, a frown showing as he found a bad knot. “This may hurt, this part of your leg is really bad,” he said before letting a little heat come to his hands as he worked the muscles, trying to be gentle as he could while loosening up the other elf. 

Zevran threw his head back with a low cry, his hands snarling into the bedcovers as his eyes opened wide, seeing nothing beyond the white haze of pain that hit before the pain faded and he sank back onto the bed, gazing up at the canopy of the bed as endorphins flooded his body in response to the pain. He panted, then moaned. “L-Leto,” he managed. “That... that....” he breathlessly laughed. “Yes, my friend,” he finally managed. “That hurt... but it also feels good.” He managed to loosen his grip on the counterpane and rolled his head to gaze at the other elf, his eyes a little dazed and glazed over.

The Tevinter elf raised an eyebrow at the comment, but continued to work. “Please don’t tell me you liked that pain.” Leto focused on another spot and heard another gasp that tailed off into a moan. “You _did_ like that...I don’t understand, but I guess it’s making you happy,” he said as he kept going, each painful knot loosened getting him a moan or hitched breath until he’d worked through all the spots he’d found that were tight or painful. 

Zevran rode each crest of pain, letting it flow through him as he floated on what felt like a sea of endorphins. He let it come, for once allowing himself to submit to the pain rather than endure it. By the time Leto had finished, the Antivan was barely aware as he lay there, face turned towards Leto but gazing through him at nothing, a dazed yet peaceful expression upon his face at the final release from pain. “Leto...” he whispered.

“Yes Zevran?” he answered, brushing wisps of blond hair from the other elf’s face, unsure what the Antivan could want. 

“Don’t go,” Zevran answered, his voice a faint plea.

“Alright,” Leto replied as he leaned forward and took Zevran’s hand in his and kept vigil as the other elf fell asleep, even remaining as he heard the blond’s breath even out in deep slumber. 

**

The infirmary was quiet. The candles had all been extinguished, save one by each occupied bed. In the silence of the ward, the only sound was that of the soft breathing of the patients, of which there were few. At the far end of the ward, Invictus kept silent vigil by Anders’ bedside.

Ellowynne had been finally persuaded to go to bed a few hours ago; it was the early hours of the morning, perhaps three hours past the midnight bell, by the former Champion’s guess, though truth be told he’d lost track of the passing of time as Anders lay there, still and quiet, eyes closed in a deep, dreamless sleep.

Invictus had sat on the floor and let his head rest on the cot, though he wasn’t asleep. Sitting vigil was all he could do while Zevran rested and Leto had gone to Hal’s old rooms after his unplanned trip to the infirmary. He was alone and so lonely as he watched his husband sleep. 

“I wish you’d wake up love, I’m scared and alone. I’m just glad you’re still with us, I don’t think any of us could have taken it if you’d died for good this time,” Vic said, his gaze drawn to the wedding rings on Anders’ hand, and the slow, deep breaths he took as he laid there. “Come back, please,” he whispered before letting his head drop to the cot and letting himself weep after a rough couple of days. 

He remained like that for some time, exhaustion, fear and worry finally taking their toll on him. It took him some minutes to slowly realise there was a hand touching his shoulder and hear a weak voice.

“Vic... Vic, don’t... don’t cry, love....”

As Invictus lifted his head, he saw that Anders had opened his eyes and was staring at him with concern as he reached out for him.

“Anders?” Vic asked as he sat up and reached out again for his love’s hand. “Am I dreaming, did you actually wake up?” 

“Not a dream, love,” Anders managed, with a weak smile. “I’m awake, still here.” He blinked and glanced around the dimly-lit ward. “Wherever here is,” he added, the smile slipping slightly. “What... what’s happened? Where am I?”

“In the Skyhold infirmary, you… had another heart attack and they put you in a healing sleep. We nearly lost you,” Vic said as he tried to hold back a sob. “You’re awake, you’re really awake, thank the Maker,” he said before taking Anders’ hands in his. 

“Fenris,” Anders breathed. “We left Fenris behind. Vic - what happened? What’s been going on whilst I slept? You look dreadful, love!” He tried to sit up.

“We didn’t leave him behind...we...I grabbed the wrong one and brought that mage version of him back. We haven’t gotten him home yet, but Dorian has mages working on it and....” Vic’s expression went flat as he remembered what Aeolus had offered. “Aeolus offered a solution but not one any of us wanted.” 

Anders gave up on trying to sit up but stared at Vic in growing alarm. “What do you mean? Vic... what did Aeolus do?”

“Aside from being his usual charming self when he’s on a tear...he suggested we bring Varania to help because of her research on Fade travel. He’s not really welcome at the moment though, love, as he angered all of us and .…” Vic fell quiet as he realized he might upset his husband as soon as he’d woken up. “Do you want me to tell you? I don’t want you to have another attack as soon as you’ve woken.” 

Anders’ face had taken on a pinched look of remembered pain. “She stabbed me. Kidnapped me. She - Vic, her men nearly butchered Zevran... you didn’t see it, but he had no chance - he fought like a demon but they kept stabbing and stabbing and -” He broke off with a gulp and gazed at Invictus in fear. “Keep her away, Vic. I don’t want her anywhere near Zevran or the kids!” He glanced away, at the darkness of the ward beyond the flickering glow of the candle, and shuddered.

“He claims she would only be in the College, working to get Fenris back. I don’t want her here but if her work can help us get our love back, can we abide her presence if she’s kept away?” Vic said as he rubbed a thumb over Anders’ hand. “I almost don’t want Aeolus here, he...accused us of trying to replace Fenris with Leto, it was just like when he attacked us over Arden. If not for how it would hurt Fenris, I’d say keep him away from all of us until Fenris is returned.” 

“He _what?_ ” exclaimed Anders as he struggled to sit up once more. “How could he even think that? Maker - I’ve been out of it, you’re here, Zevran -” He broke off and stared at Vic, his eyes widening slightly. “Vic. Oh no. Don’t tell me he went after Zevran again?”

“He brought Zev here against his will after finding him talking with Leto. I think between all of us, he got the message he was out of line. Though I was angry and called him Nakusa...he got a strange, blank look before he shoved me damn near through a wall. We haven’t seen him since and I think he’ll show himself after thinking on it; like Fenris.” Vic rubbed his chest without thinking about it, his gaze wandering for a moment as he thought on how tense things had gotten earlier that day. 

Anders groaned at mention of what Vic had called Fenris’ brother, and sank back against the pillows. “‘Nakusa’ means ‘nameless’, Vic,” he sighed. “No wonder he reacted like that. Varania kept his true name from him, even though he’d been in her care for some time before she resorted to kidnapping me. Though of course she had no idea of who any of us were - but given the way she kept Aeolus chained and a prisoner, not to mention the casual way she left Zevran for dead? I doubt that knowing one of us was her brother would have stayed her hand, and had Fenris come with me to tend the horses instead of Zevran then she’d either have left _him_ for dead or else tried to turn him into a slave like Aeolus. No wonder Aeolus lashed out like that. He must be desperate indeed to risk contacting her again.” He glanced away, and tried to ignore the way the shadows seemed to crowd in beyond the comforting glow of candlelight.

He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before he glanced back to Vic. “Where’s Ellowynne? Is she alright? Pin and Callus too? And... and how is Zev now?”

“Wynne finally went to bed a few hours ago, Zevran made it back to his rooms with her help not long before. Pin will be much better once she knows you’re alright but until we get Fenris back, she might be a bit stressed. Callus...well it turns out that Leto’s version of him died after a mission went wrong, and Leto went to pieces a little bit about him. I’ve been here, kind of dozing but mostly just sitting with you love. Honestly, I want to get us to our bed and sleep for a week or at least most of the day,” Vic said softly. 

Anders reached his hand towards his husband. “Get me out of here, Vic,” he whispered. “It’s too dark. I feel so weak but I want to be with you in our rooms, not here. Please.”

“Of course love, let me carry you?” Vic said as he stood and stretched out the kink he could feel trying to start in his back from being slumped over.

“Maker, yes,” nodded Anders. “I just can’t bear being shut away here in the dark. I need to be with you - somewhere safe.”

“The infirmary isn’t exactly unsafe love,” Vic said as he picked up his husband and smiled as he felt the other man's arms around his neck. “Portal alright or want me to just walk us there?” 

“It’s the dark,” Anders confessed as he rested his head on Vic’s shoulder and swallowed hard. “It... it gets to me. I don’t feel safe. There’s not enough candles, and I feel like I can’t breathe.” He tried to chuckle but it came out weakly. “Look at me, a man nearly in his fifties, afraid of the dark.” He turned his face and closed his eyes as he pressed closer to Vic. “Get me back quickly, love,” he begged. “I don’t care how.”

Invictus carefully shifted so he could free a hand to open a portal to their old rooms, before stepping in and gently putting Anders in bed. He snapped the portal closed, uncaring of how much mana he’d used; he was just grateful to be in a real bed and to have Anders awake. “Should I send for Zevran love? Its the middle of the night but I think he’ll be upset if I don’t tell him you’re awake.”

As he spoke, the door to the bathroom swung out and Ellowynne stepped out, clad only in a towel, her dark gold hair damp and tumbling to her waist instead of bound back in her customary braid. She halted as she realised she wasn’t alone. “Uncle Vic?” she asked, bewildered, before her eyes fell on the bed and widened. “ _Father??_ ”

“Hello, love,” Anders gave her a weak smile. “Couldn’t bear to lie there in the dark any longer.”

“But - but -” She looked back at Vic. “You just... kidnapped him?” She looked back to her father then hurried to his side and took his hands in hers. “Father, you need to rest! You were very ill!”

“I’ll rest better here,” Anders said adamantly. “I won’t be tucked away in the dark like that - I’ll sleep far better with Vic in the same bed as me. But....” He belatedly took in her state of undress. “Love, what are you doing here?”

“I asked to be moved here to your old rooms,” she replied. “They’re closer to the infirmary - so I could be closer to you.”

“Oh no - then I’ve taken your bed? Ellowynne, I’m so sorry -” Anders tried to sit up but she gently yet firmly pressed him back to lie down again.

“Don’t you dare try to get up,” she told him firmly. “I’ll just take some spare bedding and go sleep in my old room next door.” She darted a glance at Invictus.

“You move out of that bed I will scold you Anders, just rest while I go fetch Zevran, he’ll never forgive me if I don’t tell him you’re awake,” Vic said as he headed to the door. “Wynne, do you mind staying until I return? Then I hope to Maker we can all sleep for a while.” he asked. 

“Don’t you worry, Uncle Vic - if my father so much as tries to sit up then I’ll - I’ll sit on him,” she threatened.

“You’re a bit big to sit on my lap any more, young lady,” Anders joked weakly. Ellowynne put her hands on her hips.

“Just try me,” she warned. She glanced over her shoulder at Vic. “Don’t worry - my father’s not going anywhere,” she promised.

“No need for all that Imp, just keep an eye on him,” Vic said before heading up to the Rookery, hopeful that Zevran was actually sleeping. He entered to find the room dark, and heard someone sleeping deeply, though he saw a familiar head of white hair before spotting his husband sprawled out on his back. He noticed they were holding hands but didn’t accuse them, he knew Zevran likely wanted comfort more than anything after their day.

“Leto, what happened?” he asked quietly. 

“Nothing! Nothing happened!” the elf said as he backed away from Zevran and looked away from Invictus. 

Zevran stirred slightly, one hand reaching out for the hand that had been snatched away from his. “Don’... don’t go...” he slurred, eyes still closed. He rolled onto his side with a low groan.

“I’m here love, it's alright. I have a surprise for you, but you need to wake up first,” Vic said as he sat next to the slight elf and carded his fingers through his hair.

Zevran’s eyes slowly drifted open, their gaze unfocused as he blinked drowsily. “Invictus?” he murmured sleepily. “You should not leave _mi cuore_ alone, my love... he might awaken alone....”

“He’s not alone love, and he’s awake. Come on, get up and let’s see our love ok?” Vic said as he caressed the slighter elf’s face before turning to Leto.

“Leto, it’s fine, I didn’t think you were doing anything to him...I’m not Aeolus.” Vic said with a smile. “Do you mind helping me get him downstairs? I’ll carry him if you can get the doors, and perhaps provide a little light?” Vic asked before gently scooping up his husband.

“I...ah don’t know a spell for light,” the tall elf confessed. “I can carry a torch though.” 

“Just call up flame to your hand and lead the way, I’ll teach you a light spell later, or...light your brands, I just need to see down the stairs. I swear, you’re jumpy as a damned cat,” Vic said as he nuzzled against Zevran. 

“Considering how I’ve been treated, can you blame me?” Leto said as he lit his brands and led them down the stairs, letting them dim after they were down the hall. 

“No, I can’t...I’m sorry for it as well,” Vic said quietly, his mind on how little magic the other man may know. “If you want, I can help teach you more about magic and some spells. That is, if you like,” Vic offered. 

“I like his healing,” slurred Zevran sleepily. “It was... very good.” He smiled dazedly as he glanced up at Invictus, his eyes still slightly glazed over.

“I’m not very good at it, not sure what there is to like,” Leto said with an askew glance at the other elf. 

“Take care of your family, and if you have any time to spare, I would welcome your teaching. I know very little about what I can do as a mage,” the elf said as they went. 

“I … there’s no delicate way to put this but did you ah, well fuck him into this state?” Vic asked quietly.

“No, he was rather distraught when I refused to touch him that way. After having people lay into me after being offered comfort like that, I am not sure I want to try that again,” Leto snapped. 

“I offered my mouth and he refused,” murmured Zevran. “But he eased my pain and gave me something better....” He closed his eyes and smiled dreamily. “And now I cannot feel any pain. I am like one of my birds....”

“He is...I don’t know what to do with him actually. He kept moaning when I hit painful knots in his leg. Was he enjoying the pain?” Leto asked.

“I think so, he’s been like this before after a massage from Anders as well as Fenris, no one even had to touch him really but he was like this,” Vic said as they arrived. “If you’d get the door please?” 

The warrior elf let them in but lingered in the doorway, unsure if he was welcome or wanted. “I’ll see you later Invictus, I’m in Hal’s old room if you need me,” he said softly. 

Ellowynne looked up; she was dressed, though her hair still tumbled loose and damp down her back. She was wearing what Vic recognised as one of her father’s tunics, belted over a pair of what he suspected might have been a spare pair of Pin’s riding pants. She rose gracefully as Vic entered, Zevran in his arms.

“Uncle Vic? What is wrong with _mio Zio_?” she asked. Anders was sitting up and looking around; as his eyes fell on Zevran he grimaced slightly.

“Maker, Vic, how much pain has Zevran been in?” he asked. “He must be completely out of his head!”

Zevran opened his eyes and gazed up at Vic. “I think I am dreaming still; I hear Anders,” he slurred.

“Leto healed him but it seems like he responded like he has after a massage from you or Fenris. He’s out of it but I still wanted to bring him down to us,” Vic said as he laid the elf next to Anders. “I told you Aeolus did him no favors by dragging him to the infirmary earlier.” 

Ellowynne glanced to the doorway where Leto still lingered, looking ill at ease and uncertain. She went to the door.

“Leto?” she asked gently. “That _is_ your name, isn’t it? Like Fenris? Please... you may join us. I think _mio Zio_ Zevran would appreciate it - at least, when he is himself again,” she added, with a glance back to where Zevran was lifting a clumsy hand to pat Anders as though to reassure himself he wasn’t dreaming. She looked back to Leto and gave him a gentle smile as she beckoned him in.

“It is my name, I refused to use Fenris once I was free of Danarius,” Leto said as he shut the door and tried to stay out of the way. “Anders is lucky to have you as a daughter,” he added while he watched them. 

She gave him an odd, lopsided smile that reminded him of how Anders would look at times - in the days before the demon took him over. She even had the same eyes, he mused, though with those upswept ears and her delicate build she was clearly every inch her elven mother’s child; if he hadn’t known better he would have sworn there were no human in her at all.

“We didn’t know each other until a little before my eleventh birthday,” she replied. “And then, we were apart whilst he went to Adamant without me. But I try to do my best to make up for the time we were apart, by being the woman he would wish me to be.”

“I don’t know about Fenris, but I found my children before we traveled to the Temple of Mythal. It was thanks to Zevran and Josephine looking into it after hearing rumors. For all that my children care for me, I wonder if I did them any favors by taking them out of Tevinter. Though Cal warmed to me more than his sister ever has,” Leto said as he watched the family before him, a sharp spike of jealousy running through him as he saw how much they loved each other. 

“Uncle Fenris found his children much the same way,” replied Ellowynne as she moved to the sideboard and started looking through the bottles of wine. “Oh, where is it? I asked - ah, there it is!” She turned back to him and Leto saw she had a bottle of Aggregio Pavali in her hands. “This _is_ your favourite, isn’t it? Pin is fond of it too, so I snuck a couple of bottles out of the cellar when I was looking for brandy for Papa Zevran.” She smiled fondly as she glanced towards the bed, where Zevran now lay with his head in Anders’ lap as the blond mage gently stroked a hand through the Antivan’s hair.

“Pin didn’t get along with Fenris too well at first - it was Cal who got on with him from the start. It was only really after Pin saved Father and I from an assassin that they really seemed to finally talk. These days, since Cal joined the Chargers, I think Pin and Fenris are closer than he and Cal are.” She sighed with a note of faint exasperation. “Cal is eighteen and stubborn with it. He and his father seem to butt heads a lot lately, and neither one can see it’s because they’re too alike.”

“I don’t actually like Aggregio Pavali, but thank you Ellowynne.” Leto had taken a seat while watching them; he was fascinated by Anders’ daughter, so like him. “My...son was more even tempered than I could have ever been, unfortunately his sister and mine blamed me for his death so I don’t know what its like to have a daughter’s love any longer.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Ellowynne said sincerely as she laid a hand gently on his arm; he couldn’t help but notice how she seemed to almost instinctively avoid the lines of lyrium in his skin, even though it had been a few years since they had pained him. “Uncle Fenris has nothing to do with his sister; not only did she betray him to his former master, from what my father told me, but she was responsible for Papa Zevran almost dying in Tevinter - and she kidnapped my father. Pin has never met her and I don’t think she would want to either - except maybe to fireball her. She is my father’s apprentice and as protective of him as I am. She’s been like a sister to me, much as Cal has been a brother.”

“Whenever he gets back here, he should know how lucky he is to have so many who care about him,” Leto said quietly. He glanced to where Invictus was trying to rouse Zevran while Anders looked on. “I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment of your family Ellowynne; I should probably leave.” 

“Stay,” said Ellowynne softly. “He is dreaming of you. He asked you not to leave him, and it is playing in his mind now. He fears for his husband - but also for you.” 

“Very well I will stay, but I still feel as if I’m intruding,” Leto admitted. 

“No,” she said gently. “There is no-one here who would want to drive you away, Leto. You are welcome here.” She stepped back and returned the bottle of wine to the sideboard. “There’s a bottle of whisky here that I know Uncle Fenris is particularly fond of; may I pour you a glass?”

“Thank you….” He looked at her as he realized something. “How did you know he asked me to stay? How do you know what he dreams of? Are you a _somniari_ or ...what kind of magic is this you possess?” Leto asked warily. 

She poured the whisky and slid the glass over to him. “My father has not been my only teacher,” she said quietly. “I had assistance from an... elven mage, I suppose you would call him, though he preferred to refer to himself merely as a teacher. He is wise in the ways of the Fade, and he taught me how to pick up on the ripples from dreams whilst awake. I suppose in a way that yes, I could be considered a _somniari_. Pin is good at calling spirits to her, but in some ways I’m better at _listening_ to spirits. But I’m not sure what you would call me, really.” She smiled wrily. “Though some call me ‘Imp’, and perhaps that label is as true as any other.”

Leto glanced at the whiskey then the girl, slightly unnerved. “I see. I think I’ll just wait until Zevran wakes up then I’ll be on my way.” He sat back and looked to the other men in the room, uncomfortable with Ellowynne’s revelation and her abilities. While he’d accepted his own magic, she seemed to have a power beyond anything he’d known. 

Zevran was sitting up groggily now; Ellowynne set the bottle of whisky aside and picked up a cup, swiftly casting ice into it which she melted with a touch of fire magic as she hastened to their side; she perched on the edge of the bed and held the cup for Zevran as he drank, leaning against Invictus as Anders watched, clearly worried. Zevran seemed more himself, if a little disoriented. Ellowynne murmured something, and Zevran glanced around until he spotted Leto. Then the Antivan seemed to relax and managed a smile for Ellowynne, reaching up to stroke her cheek with a fond look.

“Now that Zevran seems to be more himself, I’ll get out of your way. I hope you all can rest now that you have Anders back as well.” Leto stood, uneasy with witnessing their reunion.

Anders glanced up at him with a tired yet friendly smile. “You’re not in our way, Leto,” he answered. “Please don’t feel you need to leave on my behalf.” Zevran was looking up at him with a faintly wistful look. Ellowynne merely arched an eyebrow slightly before casting more ice into the cup and melting it for Zevran.

“I’m not your husband and this seems like a family reunion I should not be witness to. I’ve already upset a lot of people and I’d rather not deal with that any more. I’m glad you are awake and that everyone is here to welcome you,” Leto said as he dropped his gaze to the floor. He was uncomfortable but wasn’t sure how to leave gracefully.

Anders had lowered his own gaze as he plucked absently at the covers. “I’ve been told that in your Thedas, I gave in to Justice and that I have become a terrible tyrant,” he said quietly. “It must be very hard to be around me. I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable; I don’t want to upset you. I suppose that, hard as it is for us to look at you and know you are not Fenris, it must be far harder for you to see myself and Zevran and remind yourself that we are not the people you know. I... I wouldn’t have you stay if you would really rather stay as far away from me as possible. I don’t want to hurt you like that.”

“It’s not you Anders...it’s, its seeing you all like this. Happy, and a family. What I’ve never had, or will have. I hate to admit it but it's a bit of jealousy, and discomfort. But it's not just you, I’m used to you being a far kinder man than the version of you I know,” Leto admitted. 

Before he could say anything further, the door was suddenly opened and Pin dashed in, her brother Callus close behind him. “Wynne, thank Dumat you sent me that wisp - though it took me a few minutes to work out what it was trying to tell me,” she exclaimed. “There’s a terrible commotion on the wards over Master Anders disappearing like that. If your wisp hadn’t shown up when it did, the guards were about to be called out!” She hastened to the bedside and dropped to her knees beside the bed and reached for one of Anders’ hands. “Master Anders, you’ve had us all worried - but you have no idea how glad I am to see you awake!”

Callus paused just inside the door, his eyes going first to Leto, then to Zevran as the Antivan glanced around with a welcoming, if tired, smile.

Leto looked away again, and tried to edge towards the door. He was already uncomfortable but seeing Callus was too much. 

Anders had tugged Pin back to her feet and was assuring her that he wasn’t overexerting himself and that he felt much better for being in his own rooms with almost all his family around him. Ellowynne moved aside so Pin and Anders could talk, and made her way over to join Callus at the door.

“I’m afraid your father’s double looks about a hair’s breadth away from bolting,” she murmured. “I think that if he knew his teleportation trick he’d have vanished already.” 

“Can you blame him? I think we should let him go and not make a fuss about it,” Callus whispered back to her. “I don’t think seeing me is helping much.” 

Ellowynne was staring over at Zevran. “And I think _mio Zio_ is all too aware - and wishes it were otherwise,” she sighed. She looked back to Leto and caught his eye; inclining her head slightly in acknowledgement to him, she walked with Callus back over towards the bed, leaving the doorway unobstructed.

Zevran glanced up at Callus with a faint smile as he rested against Invictus. “Ah, my former apprentice,” he greeted him. “Did Anders’ little jailbreak stir you from your bed also?”

“Hardly a jailbreak,” muttered Anders sheepishly. “Just wanted to be in my own rooms and away from the infirmary.”

“The commotion raised when people couldn’t find him got some of the Chargers on the lookout Master Hawke,” Callus replied quietly. “I am glad to see you are awake Anders.” 

Anders buried his face in his hands and groaned in dismay. “Meneris is going to hate me,” he replied. “ _And_ Krem. Now I’m being a nuisance to them all over again.”

“You’re not, Krem will be glad to hear you’re awake and Meneris is a crabby bastard on a good day,” Callus said before glancing at the door as it closed behind Leto, his expression not changing but he felt bad for his father’s double. The man had a rough life as far as he could tell. “I’ll report in and check in on you all tomorrow afternoon.” 

Anders looked up at him. “I’m sorry to have worried you all,” he said ruefully.

“Oh, stop that,” said Pin almost crossly. “Let other people do the worrying for once instead of you all the time, Master Anders! We were just concerned for you, is all. We should have guessed you’d make your way straight to where Wynne was.” She glanced up at the tall blonde woman. “Isn’t that - hey, Wynne?” Her expression changed to concern as she took in the way Ellowynne had hunched over slightly, rubbing her forehead. “Wynne, are you alright?”

“It’s nothing,” said Ellowynne. “Just a headache. The late hour and lack of sleep catching up to me I expect.”

“I think we all need to go to bed before the sun comes up. Wynne, your room should be usable, Pin you should let Marian know you’re alright and that Anders is out of his healing sleep but we are all going to bed until some time tomorrow. I’ll...check on Leto after I get some sleep,” Invictus said as he pinched the spot between his eyes and groaned. “I’ve got a headache building up as well, and I just need to rest.” 

Pin got to her feet and turned to give Ellowynne a hug before glancing up to study her face with a small frown. “Make sure you _do_ rest, Wynne, or I’ll be cross,” she said. “You’re as bad as your father, I swear.”

“Hey!” protested Anders; Pin gave him an unrepentant grin, then patted Ellowynne on the arm. 

“Go, get to bed; you look as though you’re about to fall over,” she chided. “I’ll come by in the morning.”

“Go yourself,” retorted Ellowynne, but she had a small smile now playing about her lips. “Or you’ll have Marian chasing after me to send wisps after you again, and I think Father could do with no more unexpected visitors for a bit.” She stepped away with a nod to Pin.

“I don’t want any visitors until after the twelfth bell. I love you but I’m bloody exhausted. Now please go to bed, or at least leave us for now,” Vic said as he started to tug off his tunic. 

“As messere wishes, come on Pin let’s leave them be for now. Besides, Marian will be looking for you,” Cal said as he ushered his sister out of the door. 

Ellowynne kissed her father goodnight and gave Zevran a hug; the Antivan was already drowsy again. As she turned to bid Invictus goodnight, Zevran was already curling up against Anders and more than halfway asleep.

Shortly Invictus was the only one awake as he finished undressing; leaving the candle on Anders’ side of the bed burning as always, he slid into bed behind Zevran, and shortly thereafter was lost to dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude, and the coup.

Hal sat back on his heels and looked up at the old man. “Now, you should keep your weight off your ankle for a couple more days, but after that you should start to use it more, and slowly build up the strength in that leg again, alright? The splint can come off on the fourth day. Take it easy though, and be careful going up and down stairs - that was a bad break, and you don’t want to have another.”

The old man nodded. “Many thanks to you, healer. It’s good that you and your friend came to Crestwood just when you did, or I’d have been laid up for a couple o’ months with a busted ankle.”

Hal rose to his feet. “Happy fortune all round,” he nodded with a smile.

“Healer, our thanks for all you’ve done,” said the old man’s son as he shook Hal’s hand and pressed a pouch of coin into his hand. “You’ve earned this as well as our thanks; since the wasting sickness took my wife four years ago, I’ve been raising my daughter alone, and Father normally watches her for me whilst I work the fields - I’d be losing work with my father off his feet, and we can ill afford that. You’ve done us a great service.”

“And is that your little girl?” asked Hal gently as he glanced over to where Arden was sitting on the floor of the inn, conjuring up coloured butterflies from small wisps summoned from the Fade for a young girl of perhaps five summers. The young girl was watching them with a look of awe and delight on her face as the butterflies fluttered around her head.

“That she is,” nodded her father with a smile. “Elora is a shy child normally, but she seems to have taken to your friend.”

Hal smiled. “We had a friend with a young daughter who was just as charmed by little illusions.” He thought of Ellowynne with a small pang, and wondered if she still had Belann’s daggers; he’d bequeathed them to her when he and Arden had followed Mythal in search of Solas.

“Well, we must be going,” said the farmer as he helped his father to his feet and saw him balanced on his crutches. “Much obliged to you again, healer. Come along, Elora!”

Obediently the child ran to take his hand as Arden dispelled the wisps back to the Fade with a wave of his hand and a smile. As the family left the inn, Arden got to his feet and joined Hal.

“I think that was the last of them,” said Arden as they took a table in the corner near the unlit fire. Hal handed him the pouch of coin and Arden counted it then added it to the other coin they’d earned that day. “Hmm, between your healing today and the coin I earned casting fire for the smith this morning, and the coin we’ve earned over the past few days, I think we have enough for supplies for the road. We’ve not done too badly for our unexpected stay in Crestwood.”

“I like the people here,” said Hal as Alice came to bring them a pint of ale each with a smile. “Crestwood is a friendly and welcoming place.” 

“That it is, and a warmer welcome you’ll not find this side of Calenhad,” smiled Alice. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider and stay? You’d find many would be glad to have you here; though we get mages passing through, they don’t stay long - and we’ve seen none with the skill at healing you have, Hal. And I’ve never seen a barn be built so fast as when you helped with the heavy lifting with magic, Arden!”

“Just a touch of Force magic,” Arden shrugged. “I was glad to help, honestly.”

“Be that as it may - won’t you stay? Make your home here in Crestwood?” Alice pleaded.

“We’re sorry, Alice, truly - but we have to hit the road soon. Maybe our path will lead us back to Crestwood one day though.”

“Ah well, if you won’t stay, you won’t,” she said with a shrug. “But you can’t blame me for trying, eh?” She gave them another smile as Halstead called her back to the bar.

Hal sat back with his pint, and stared down into its amber depths pensively.

“Hal?” asked Arden softly.

“I miss Ellowynne,” Hal sighed. “Seeing little Elora... I wonder how she’s doing. I hope she and her father are back together and happy.”

“If anyone deserves happiness, it’s Anders,” nodded Arden.

“Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” asked Hal, wistfully. “I know - I said we should move on, put that behind us, start a new life. But....”

“Since we learned about the Colleges and Meneris, you mean?” asked Arden gently; Hal nodded. Arden leaned over and gently brushed a strand of red hair back out of Hal’s eyes, tucking it neatly behind the other man’s ear. “I know,” he said. “I find myself thinking about them too. I don’t know... after all that happened, part of me wants to see _some_ of them again. Anders and Ellowynne. And Parcival, too.”

Hal nodded. “I miss working with Parcival. We made a good team. I’m glad he made First Enchanter; he worked hard and earned it.”

“That he did,” nodded Arden. “I don’t know... maybe one day we’ll turn our feet towards Skyhold...”

“Or Nevarra?” asked Hal. Arden shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “Not Nevarra. Too much happened there. We have the rest of Thedas to explore, in any case.” He straightened up. “So,” he said, in a brisker tone. “Which way should we go? The North road goes north then east and would take us towards Highever; if we follow the road all the way then we could be in Denerim in two weeks. The South road veers west; we’d be at Calenhad in two days. From there, we’d have to decide if it’s south down the east side of Lake Calenhad, or west through Gherlen’s Pass - we could reach there in a week.”

“Gherlen’s Pass would lead us over towards Orzammar, wouldn’t it?” asked Hal.

“If we take the north road from there? Yes,” nodded Arden. “Why - got a hankering to see the city of the dwarves?”

“Mmm,” Hal nodded. “But I think I’d rather head east to Denerim. You know the road, after all, and I’ve seen the sea all too rarely since we left Kirkwall.”

Arden nodded. “Alright; east it is, then.”

Two days later, they bade farewell to Halstead and Alice, and set out on the road north out of Crestwood. They carried new packs that were packed with a spare set of clothes each, food supplies that could be supplemented with what Arden could catch, bedrolls, and Arden had parted with coin to buy a pack pony to carry camping gear and some extra supplies. They both bore new staves that they had purchased the day before from a travelling merchant in the market. The staves were plain, unadorned, but serviceable. Arden’s bore a leaf-shaped blade at the foot, whereas Hal’s bore no blade.

They were bound for Denerim, and their new life.

***

When Fenris woke the following morning, only Dorian lay in the bed, one arm outflung as though the magister had reached for his missing bedmate even as he slept. He was still deep in dreams. It wasn’t until Fenris rose from the couch and glanced around that he finally saw the Antivan elf. Zevran was sitting in the window, leaning against the frame on one side with one foot braced against the other side of the frame, his other leg hanging down in the room. Naked save for his leather pants, the Antivan was staring pensively out of the window, his head resting against the diamond-paned glass as he toyed absently with a knife.

“Morning,” Fenris said as he approached the other elf and sat opposite him. “How are you feeling?” 

“It is raining,” said Zevran softly. “It was raining the day I left Antiva to slay the Warden.” He turned his head slightly to focus his eyes on Fenris. “You healed me, I think - when? Was it as I slept?”

“Yes, after our...fun, you were pretty much passed out. At least I’ve learned something useful after unlocking the magic in me.” Fenris glanced at Dorian then to Zevran. “He cares for you, I think he just realized it last night.” 

Zevran stilled. “Did he say so?” he asked, something odd in his voice that Fenris couldn’t quite place.

“Yes, and the way he looked at you spoke more than words could convey. He...asked what I feel for you as well, and I’m unsure. Things changed last night, for the better I hope. You’re not my husband, but now that you both see what he was doing to you? I have hope you will want better for yourselves if I ever get home and Leto returns.” Fenris leaned against the window and sighed. “I’m sorry for last night, I was not fair to either of you in how I ...became rather submissive.” 

Zevran had turned his face again to stare out at the rain that beat steadily against the window. “Perhaps you were,” he shrugged. “I was hardly the dominant one between the three of us however.” The knife spun between his graceful strong fingers as he continued to stare at the rain. “Did you remind him that I have slept with many men?” he asked softly. “That sex is but another form of currency to me?” That odd note still lingered in his voice.

Fenris gave him an odd look but didn’t reach over to touch him. “That’s not my place but you’re also a terrible liar. I know my own husband’s moods well enough to tell when you are deflecting. It was not just sex and it wasn’t simply an exchange before we could all die today. Once all is said and done, talk to Dorian. I will stay out of your way so you can be honest with each other.” He slipped off the windowsill and headed for the basin so he could wash up before they began their plan. 

Zevran turned his head to watch Fenris. He swung his foot down from the window frame and rose to pace slowly, now tossing the knife in his hand. “Very few men have dared call me a liar to my face and lived,” he said softly. “You are so sure that I am like your Zevran then, that you think you can tell me so? That you can read me?”

The taller elf tensed as the blond approached him but he didn’t let him see the fear that ran through him. “I was wrong then, apologies for my mistake. I’ll wake Dorian so we can get ready and go over the plan once more.” Fenris didn’t move as long as the Antivan stared him down, unsure if he was going to get a knife for his trouble. 

Zevran caught the blade in his hand and held still, his eyes on Fenris for long moments in silence before speaking softly. “Do you know what would happen if Leto were to return and learn that Dorian has feelings for me?” he asked, his voice still holding that odd tone. “There would be blood. Perhaps Dorian’s, for daring to play with his toy. Perhaps mine, to pay the price for Dorian and punish him too. I do not dare ever breathe word to Leto of what it is I allow my men to do, or soon I would have no men - and he would punish me also for allowing others to sully his toy. And then I think he would have no further use for me.” He took a step closer to Fenris, the blade held tight in his hand. “So you see, it is not safe for Dorian to have these... _feelings_ for me. And more dangerous still for me to return them. It could only be one night - do you not see this?” The hand that held the blade trembled.

“It can be more than one night because I am going to make sure Leto sees the error of his ways. Do not hold that knife in your hand unless you mean to use it on me, or if you plan to use it otherwise then act or put it away,” Fenris said as he closed the gap between them. “Part of today is freeing you both from Vengeance and Leto. He will not use you again, or Dorian - do you understand?” 

Zevran’s gaze dropped to the knife clutched in his hand, the blade against his palm, and he slowly opened his fingers to let the knife drop to the floor before staring at the cuts upon his hand. “I... never felt it,” he murmured. He lifted his head to return Fenris’ gaze. “You give me hope, when experience tells me I should have none,” he went on. “Hope is dangerous to such a man as I. I do not care what happens to me as long as you promise me that we will try to save Anders and that Dorian will be safe.” He bowed his head. “He should not have to pay for my mistakes.”

Fenris took his hand in between his and focused on healing the elf before him. He opened his eyes before pulled Zevran to him so the Antivan would have to look at him. “Neither of you are going to pay for any of this. Stop sacrificing yourself dammit. Just...let’s enact our plan and after we’re done? We’ll talk, all of us. Josephine as well so she can talk some damned sense into you.” 

Zevran returned his stare and his lips parted as though to speak, but after a minute all he said was, “You should wake Dorian.” He pulled away from Fenris and turned away to reach for the healing kit that stood upon the low table nearby with Dorian’s potions; he pulled out a length of bandage and began to wrap his torso with it, his focus on what he was doing as he sought once more to create the impression he were gravely injured.

“Damn you,” Fenris muttered as he went to the bed and shook the magister’s shoulders. “Get up.” 

Dorian startled awake with a half-articulated protest before blinking around himself. “Where is she?” he slurred, his mind seemingly still half in dreams. 

“Who are you talking about?” Fenris asked as he shook the other man again. “It’s time to get up and get going, Pavus.” 

“The woman, the blonde woman, she was standing right over -” Dorian broke off as he stared towards the couch where Fenris had slept earlier, then up at the elf. “Dreams... a dream, nothing more,” he said slowly as he sat up. He glanced over at Zevran, who was winding another bandage around his throat to replace the other one which had been dislodged and half-unwound over the course of the previous day and their night-time activities. There was a distant look in the Antivan’s eyes as he worked, not glancing at either man.

“Zevran -” began Dorian, but the Crow merely gave him a brief glance before returning to what he was doing.

“You should get dressed,” Zevran said quietly. “The Inquisitor is not a patient man, and if we make him wait too long then he will undoubtedly come to kill me rather than wait for me to tamely go to him.”

Fenris put on his armor minus the ruff in silence. He had a lot on his mind and he couldn’t afford to let anything distract him from their goal. He went back to the window and watched the rain fall as he listened to them finish. He was so deep in thought, he might have stood there for hours without a nudge from Dorian. 

The magister was dressed, hair immaculate and kohl lining his eyes as normal. He was holding Leto’s staff out towards Fenris; behind him, Zevran stood with head bowed as he waited for them both.

“We should go,” said Dorian quietly. “All being well, Josie’s people should be in place.”

Fenris took the staff uncertainly as he stared at it. Its weight was different than he was used to, and he felt strange as it thrummed in his hands. “This is wrong but if I walk in bearing a sword, we’ll be revealed immediately. It feels wrong to use _his_ staff,” he whispered. 

“If our plans work then, with luck, you shan’t need to use it for anything other than a prop,” pointed out Dorian.

“And if they do not, then you are lethal whether you wield a sword or use your bare hands,” added Zevran. “And I will likely be unable to aid you though I shall try to provide a distraction for as long as I am able.” He patted his waistband, where the stiletto dagger was once more hidden. “I should keep up the pretense from the moment we leave this room; I do not know which of the guards are his spies, and if I seem not too badly injured then he will know something is wrong.” 

“For my own piece of mind, the plan once again is we are escorting you because you are presenting yourself as required, though you can barely make it to the Inquisitor’s rooms. Josephine has her people who are loyal to our plan in place. We let you get close to the demon to take him out and then Dorian tries to revive him once he is ...dead or if his demon is cast out. Did I miss anything?” Fenris asked as he gave them both one last look over. 

“Only this,” said Zevran as he held Fenris’ gaze, then Dorian’s. “If he suspects he is betrayed, or if the magebane does not take him down, then you must do all you can to take Vengeance down. Do not hold back, even if I am in the way. We cannot allow the demon to live.”

“Then do try to duck,” said Dorian tersely. “But try not to get yourself dead.”

Zevran gave him a mirthless grin. “I have made a lifetime’s career out of causing other people to die. And of living myself. I shall endeavour to continue that.”

“The same goes for me; we have to succeed, no matter what. Just give me a good funeral if I die,” Fenris said before he leaned in to kiss them both gently on the forehead. “To battle.” 

“If _either_ of you dies then I shall bloody well raise you back up from the dead to scream at you,” declared Dorian, unable to look either man in the eye.

Zevran stepped between them and slung an arm across Dorian’s shoulders as Fenris slipped a hand around his waist; and then he slumped against Dorian as though barely capable of standing upright between them.

As they stepped out of Dorian’s room, the slight hiss of indrawn breath from Dorian told Fenris instantly that he recognised neither of the two guards who stood either side of his door, and nor had he expected there to be guards there at all. Which meant that Zevran had been entirely right to be cautious, and Fenris was suddenly very glad they had all been speaking so softly. The two guards were humans; it was unlikely they would have been able to overhear.

Fenris glared at them as they exited the room. “Why are you here? I ordered no guards on Dorian’s room.” 

“Inquisitor’s orders, ser,” replied one man gruffly; the other man was eyeing Zevran with a dubious look.

“The Spymaster looks almost dead on his feet,” he observed. 

“He is, at least, _on_ his feet which is more than you’ll be if you don’t get out of our way,” snarled Dorian.

Fenris let his brands light as he helped Dorian carry their insensate spy master. “Get out of the way or I will make you sorry you woke up this morning. Move - that’s an order.” He didn’t wait for the guards to obey; the tall elf moved forward, forcing them to either move or get knocked down. 

Zevran stumbled between them, head hanging low as though unaware of where he were or even what were happening; but as they rounded the corner and approached the stairs leading down from the library, Fenris caught a barely breathed whisper in Tevene. “ _Foot of the stairs. Woman in grey, Josie’s right hand._ ”

Fenris looked at her and gave a quick nod to the woman. “ _Greetings madam, are you to announce us then?_ ” Fenris asked in Antivan.

The woman sniffed derisively as though she found his question insulting even as she replied. “ _We only managed to get half our people in position but the spymaster’s messages were passed on so we may yet have the advantage of numbers. The ambassador seeks to waylay some of the other forces before their guards can rally them._ ” Her tone suggested she were telling him where he could stick an unwanted favour even as she imparted the information.

“ _Very well, how do we signal you once we’re inside?_ ” Fenris asked quietly. 

“ _We will be observed,_ ” whispered Zevran as he stumbled, the movement pulling Fenris slightly off balance and closer to the smaller elf. “ _Have a care. That man by that door is one of the Inquisitor’s men - and he speaks Antivan,_ ” he added in Tevene before coughing and spitting out what looked like blooded froth. The man that Zevran had indicated straightened from a semi-slouch, his eyes sharpening as he stared at the Antivan elf and took in his state before disappeared down a nearby passageway.

“Let us get this over with, then,” Fenris said as he helped Zevran up the stairs slowly, putting on a good show for anyone who might have been watching them. He waited until they were announced and he, along with Dorian pulled the elf between them to face Vengeance. 

Zevran lifted his head and pulled away from them both, stumbling forward a few steps closer to the possessed Inquisitor, who was sitting in a chair looking bored.

“I told you you he must stand before me alone and under his own power,” said Vengeance coldly, his spirit-blue eyes glaring balefully at Fenris.

“I am here,” said Zevran. “I am standing. What does my Inquisitor demand of me?”

Vengeance rose to his feet and stared down at the blond elf. “You may approach,” he said coldly.

Zevran stumbled forward, as though each step were painful and he were barely upright by an effort of will.

“Stop,” said Vengeance when the elf were perhaps six feet away from him. “Upon your knees.”

Zevran regarded him steadily, then dropped to his knees with a pained grunt.

Vengeance closed the distance between them and snarled a hand in the pale blond hair before yanking Zevran’s head back painfully hard. “It is clear you are of no further use to me. Tell me, do you believe in the Maker, Zevran Arainai? I’d make peace with him now if I were you.” He smiled coldly.

“After you,” spat Zevran before he surged forward, the stiletto blade taking Vengeance in the throat.

“Guards! To the Inquisitor!” screamed one of the guards, and with that several armed men launched themselves into the room only to be met by the brilliant white flash of lyrium as Fenris lit up and Dorian’s lightning lashed out to dance from man to man.

Reinforcements were pouring into the room but they were unexpectedly brought to a halt as several dark-clad figures leapt down to confront them from the upper railing, several crossbowmen stepping out after them in Josephine’s livery to start picking off the Inquisitor’s men.

Fenris found he had no time to look back and see if the magebane had taken out Vengeance as four men leapt towards him with swords drawn. 

“ _Venhedis_!” he swore as he hopped back from their strikes, pulling the staff free so he could take out the closest guard. Fenris felt a little clumsy with this stick rather than his usual two-handed weapon. He didn’t have time to think about it as a guard attempted to take him out with an overhand strike which he parried, barely. 

“To hell with this thing,” he said as he smacked the guard and drove the blade into his chest before whirling to sink his hand into the other guard that was closing in. He pulled the woman’s heart out as he sized up the remaining guards. After dodging a third strike, he let ice loose on the stunned guardsman before taking his heart as well. “A little help here would be appreciated!” he called to anyone else as he felt a cut to his arm and blood running hot and wet to his fingers. He whirled to find himself confronted by another swordsman, three more following close behind.

As the sword slashed out towards his throat, it was abruptly stopped by the blade of another guard who threw his shoulder behind the blow then physically shoved the first guard back and off balance, following it up with a lunge that took the man through the heart. He turned back to Fenris.

“Commander Leto, ser! Are you -” He broke off with a gurgle and then choked on blood as he was run through from behind by another guard he’d not seen coming up behind him. 

That guard went down to a crossbow bolt from the mezzanine above and behind them. But yet more guards were pouring into the room, and the air was filled with the shouts and screams of injured and dying men and women, the clash of swords, the singing of crossbows, and the discharge of magic. The smell of blood was thick in the air.

“Leto, duck!” screamed Dorian as he took out three men who had nearly blindsided Fenris, the magister’s chain lightning dancing between them.

“Leto!” cried a new voice - a familiar voice Fenris had not heard in years. There, her red hair unmistakable, was Varania fighting her way across the melee towards him.

“Varania…” Fenris replied and was nearly run through for his trouble as he felt someone shove him out of the way. 

“Sorry…” he gasped before he called up ice and flung shards of it at a guard that was chasing his sibling. He grinned as he saw them land in a heap, gurgling as the spike that had gone through their throat had done its job. He let his claws out and took on anyone who got close enough, even flinging small fireballs at anyone he saw going after their group. 

“Zevran!” screamed Dorian, a moment before the hairs stood up on the back of Fenris’ neck.

“ _ **Pathetic, weak worm,**_ ” snarled a voice that Fenris had only heard in his darkest dreams since Justice had been ripped bodily from his own Anders so many, many years ago. Fenris turned, feeling his heart sink with dread.

Vengeance had Zevran hoisted in the air, his silverite hand grasping the struggling Antivan by the throat. Spirit fire had cracked open the once-mortal man’s skin in blue-white fire, and the blazing light of his eyes were utterly inhuman. This was not merely a demon looking out through Anders’ eyes, but Vengeance manifested at last with all the power of the Fade, and the knife that still protruded from his throat only served to horribly emphasise that.

A crossbow bolt thudded into the creature’s chest; Vengeance tore it free without a thought then flung out his free hand and the hapless crossbowmen died in a horrible flash of pure raw spirit fire with a bloodcurdling scream.

All around, combatants from both sides were recoiling as the true nature of their Inquisitor was made clear at long last, even as Zevran’s struggles weakened then finally ceased, the blond elf hanging limply in the demon’s grasp. Then Vengeance threw him down as he stalked towards Fenris. He reached for the blade in his throat and pulled it out, throwing it aside as though it were merely an annoying irrelevance.

“ _ **Leto. So at last you show your true hand. Is this how you finally reveal yourself to me? A pathetic plot because your precious toy is threatened?**_ ”

Fenris growled as he let his wings unfurl, his claws and fangs show. “Except I’m not Leto, demon.” He called up lightning to send towards the creature as he leapt at him with claws full out, intending to take Vengeance down while the others took care of Zevran.

Vengeance turned to meet his attack with a roar of fury, brilliant blue-white fire enveloping its hands as it reached for Fenris. The blast of fire washed over him then the demon slapped him away hard with preternatural strength, throwing him back several feet.

So intent upon Fenris was the demon that it was oblivious to the fallen Antivan it had left discarded like a broken puppet on the floor behind. Zevran was pushing himself slowly, painfully up onto his knees, one hand clutching at his throat as he gasped for breath. He glanced around and his eye fell on a fallen guardsman nearby, the dead man’s sword lying just beyond the reach of the man’s outstretched hand. Zevran reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword with an unsteady hand then lurched to his feet, his eyes fixed on the demon. With all his remaining strength he threw himself forward and thrust the blade through the demon’s heart until the hilt of the blade rammed up hard against the creature’s back as several inches of bloodied steel erupted through the demon’s chest.

Vengeance staggered and stared down at the sword, then whirled around and backhanded the blond elf; Zevran fell back and landed hard upon the ground. He stared up dazedly as the demon advanced on him, determined this time to finish the Crow off for good, heedless of any danger behind it as it turned its back on Fenris.

“Zevran!” screamed Dorian.

Fenris staggered to his feet, shaking off the dizziness he felt to focus on Vengeance. Once the demon’s back was turned, he saw one chance to take it down. He didn’t shout or even yell out to the others, he grabbed Vengeance from behind, locking his arms around the creature’s neck before lighting his brands and begging Anders to wake up. “Please, I know you’re in there, we need you to fight back. Please, please love. I need you to come back and get rid of the demon. Remember Ella, do you want that again, do you?” he pleaded as he put all his strength into holding the demon in a headlock, even pulling them both to the ground and locking his legs around the demon’s waist. 

“I don’t want to kill you, please come back to us Anders. Please!” the last bit was almost a choked sob as he fought against the demon as it tried to buck out of his hold as he put more pressure on to keep it still.

The demon howled as it thrashed, and then the spirit fire that had split open the man’s skin began to flicker and die as the man in Fenris’ grasp slowly ceased his struggles until Fenris heard Anders’ voice, weak.

“What... what have you done... to me?” he gasped as he brought trembling hands up to the sword that protruded from his chest. “Leto... Leto, I’m... I’m dying....”

“I know...I’ll heal you. Just...let me work,” Fenris said as he looked down and grimaced. “I’ll have to be fast, once I pull that sword out...you’ll bleed quickly. Forgive me,” he said as he looked around for something to tie Anders’ hands with, just in case. He spotted Varania and hoped she could help. 

“Va...Varania, bring one of those cords from the drapes. I need to tie him before I start healing this.” 

Anders coughed wetly, blood flecking his lips, his hands falling away from the sword blade. “Tired... so tired,” he whispered, and then he went limp in Fenris’ arms as his chest stilled.

“Maybe I won’t need to tie him. Sister… I will need your help,” Fenris said as he pulled the sword free and got to work healing the other man’s heart first, he closed his eyes and let his senses sink into Anders’ body. His magic responded sluggishly; Anders’ heart had stopped, the last breath fled from his body, and it was steadily dying. The magebane in his bloodstream was resisting him. Fenris lit his brands, calling up wisps from the Fade; he directed them to close the wound from inside out, and called more to work on closing the other cuts as mana flowed from his brands to power his healing. He felt himself trembling as he worked, and forced his hands to settle. He could collapse later.

“Master? _Master!!_ ” screamed a woman’s voice, and suddenly Pin was there, even as Dorian settled himself by Anders’ head, green arcane fire flickering coldly around his hands as he laid his palms against the dying man’s temples.

“Vulpine, his spirit is fleeing his body. Help me tether it,” ordered Dorian. “Quickly, or we will lose him!”

“Anders… come on, don’t go. Please,” Fenris asked as he poured more healing into the mage’s heart until he felt it whole and healed once more. Fenris moved on to the other wounds that Vengeance had taken and ignored during the fight, including the bruising on his throat. A frown came to Fenris’ face as he realized how close he’d come to suffocating the other man instead of subduing him. “If you die on us, we’ll fucking raise you just to yell at you, damn you open your eyes!” he said as he placed a hand on Dorian’s arm to help fuel his own work.

“I have him,” said Vulpine, sweat standing out upon her forehead, her eyes closed as she reached with her magic to capture the dying man’s spirit as it sought the Fade. “My master... he is so tired....”

“His vessel is ready. Guide him to me,” ordered Dorian. “Follow what I do.”

“What _are_ you doing?” hissed Varania as she looked up from where she was trying to close the wound in Anders’ throat from Zevran’s knife.

“Necromancy, my dear,” replied Dorian tersely. “Only instead of reanimating his body with a wisp, we’re trying to do it with his spirit.”

There was a tense, fraught silence as all four mages worked their magic, Fenris’ lyrium blazing bright. They were oblivious to all else around them as they strived to restore life to the dead man. Around them, forces from both sides were silent, watching in incomprehension as powerful magic stirred the air.

Several feet away, Josephine was silent as she cradled Zevran’s head in her lap. The Antivan lay silent, eyes closed, his breathing slow and laboured; Josephine’s eyes however were upon the group clustered around Anders’ fallen form.

“Steady,” murmured Dorian. “He’s resisting me. Vulpine -”

“I have him,” she interrupted.

As Fenris continued to hold open a conduit from the Fade to Dorian’s magic, he thought he could faintly hear an echo of Anders’ voice. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but he thought the man was pleading.

“He... wants to go,” said Vulpine in a small voice.

“Not on my watch,” replied Dorian, his forehead creasing in a frown, his eyes intent upon Anders’ still face.

Fenris felt a powerful surge of magic racing through his veins, drawn through his lyrium directly from the Fade, and Dorian cried out with the effort.

Anders’ eyelids flickered as Fenris felt his heart begin pumping and beating on its own and breath stir in his lungs. Anders gasped, coughed, then took another ragged breath... then another. 

“Thank Mythal, he’s still with us,” Fenris murmured as he watched the mage struggle to breathe. He sent wisps to hover near Anders to help him, to try and keep him with them. He thought of the mage breathing regularly, deeply and not struggling as he sent them to work. He watched Dorian and this version of his daughter as they watched Anders closely. 

“Did it work?” he asked quietly.

Dorian lifted his head wearily to return Fenris’ gaze. “I was able to infuse his spirit back into his body, but he fought me. I felt something flee from him at the last... possibly a last vestige of the demon, I don’t know. He lives... but whether he’ll have a mind when he awakens, and in what state it might be if he does, I cannot tell.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I am utterly exhausted,” he sighed.

“Dorian,” called Josephine softly, and his eyes snapped open as he glanced over his shoulder.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ \- Zevran!” he exclaimed.

“Vulpine, please sit with Anders,” Fenris said before he made his way to Zevran and took his hand in his. “I’ll do what I can, I won’t let him die on us.”

The Crow’s breathing was laboured, and as Fenris stared down at the other elf he noted the purpling bruises around the unconscious man’s throat. As he laid his hands upon Zevran’s chest and closed his eyes, he became aware of other injuries; a crack through the side of Zevran’s jaw, no doubt from when the demon had backhanded him. There were bruises to his back, and the Antivan had taken several other injuries both in the fall and as he had driven himself on towards the demon; Fenris realised he had his work cut out for him. The Antivan had paid dearly to distract the demon and provide him with the opportunity to take down Vengeance.

He opened himself to the Fade once more, becoming a living conduit through the lyrium woven all through his flesh. He could feel the brands beginning to burn, overloaded by the sheer raw force and magnitude of the magic he had wielded thus far. He ignored it as he called wisps to him and guided them once more into Zevran’s still form.

The Antivan’s body was becoming more familiar to him now even than his own as he closed his eyes and let an incorporeal hand trail gently through the bruised and crushed tissues of Zevran’s throat, prompting the wisps to begin healing there, easing the inflammation and rebuilding what had been torn and crushed.

He guided other wisps to the broken bone of Zevran’s jaw; some to work rebuilding the bone from inside, others to drain away the swelling and bruising, the cuts within Zevran’s mouth where he had bitten himself as he landed.

He brushed a hand through Zevran’s chest, and wisps followed in the wake of his fingers, seeking out fluid in lungs, bruised and torn tissues, relieving pressure upon internal organs, restoring blood flow.

He lost all sense of time, there within Zevran’s body, aware only of the flow of magic through his veins and the flow of blood through Zevran’s; the beating of the Crow’s heart, and the rhythms and tides of a body healing.

“Fenris?” The whisper was weak and faint, but unmistakably Zevran’s. As Fenris slowly pulled his awareness back out of the Antivan’s body, wisps dispersing back to the Fade and the quicksilver flow of magic whispering away to stillness, he opened his eyes to find Zevran staring up at him, dazed.

“Fenris, Anders... does he live?” whispered Zevran weakly.

“Yes...Dorian and Pin kept his spirit and brought him back.” Fenris replied as he stared at the Antivan, glad he was going to make it as well. Since he was still, he could feel all of the injuries he’d taken in the fight, the burn in his arm and the stickiness of his own blood drying from the wound. He blinked a few times, unsure why everything was blurry before the elf’s eyes shut and he hit the floor with a soft thud.

**

He slowly awoke to awareness that he was lying in a soft bed. He was warm, and though his body ached, the feeling was muted - like the residual ache of muscles that had been overused, rather than the pain of fresh wounds that he had expected. He had become aware of the waves of pain rolling through him just before everything had gone dark - but as he lay there now and felt with still-unfamiliar senses through his own body, he found no sign of the wounds he knew he had taken. He could find only the muted ache of his brands, the skin around them sore and inflamed; but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

“Brother?” That was Varania’s voice; he became aware that his hand was being held by small, delicate hands, the fingertips calloused from hours of hard work... sewing, he realised; the roughness of fingers that had laboured stitching long hours. As he opened his eyes and turned his head, Varania gave him a relieved smile.

“You had us very worried, Leto,” she said gently. “I’m so glad you’re back with us now though.”

Fenris stared at her, worried what would happen if she realized he wasn’t _her_ Leto. “I thought I was dying after the fight,” he said quietly while trying, and failing to sit up. “What’s happened since I passed out?”

“Dorian and Zevran were taken up to the Rookery to rest,” replied Varania as she sat back. “Dorian was quite insistent about it. Josephine has sent ravens to Cassandra in Nevarra and to Vivienne. Our people are rooting out a few isolated pockets of resistance amongst the Inquisitor’s forces, but for the most part they’ve given themselves over in peaceable fashion from the moment the demon revealed itself.”

“Good, that’s good.” Fenris laid back and closed his eyes as he tried to get his feelings under control. His sister had betrayed him, yet this version of her seemed concerned for Leto. “Where is Pin? She seemed distraught during the fight and ...where is Anders?” he asked finally.

“Anders is....” Varania hesitated, then grimaced. “He awoke a short time ago, and promptly started screaming. He appears terrified of the dark, of shadows - even his _own_ shadow, it seems. Vulpine is sitting with him now; we had to dose him with poppy juice to get him to calm down. It’s hard to tell how much of a mind he has in there, underneath this... this raw _fear_ he seems to have.” She sighed. “Poor bastard. He was petrified of that silverite arm of his, particularly the anchor. Kept screaming to cut it off. In the end we had to get Dagna to come up and help remove it.” She shook her head. “The arm with the anchor is locked away for now and Dagna’s working on a new arm for him - something with wood, I think? I didn’t ask too closely; I was too concerned with you, Leto.”

Fenris had nearly gagged at the news of them taking the silverite arm off but didn’t sick up. Though he knew his expression showed what he thought of that bit of news. “He’s scared of the dark with good reason. Just make sure there are lots of candles and if possible...a cat for him.” He finally looked to this version of his sister, unnerved to see such concern for him - believing him to be Leto. “What of Pin? She called Dorian Master?” He held her hand in his, thumb running over the callouses on her fingertips almost without thought. He wasn’t sure he could keep up the charade for long, not with the conflicting emotions he was dealing with.

“Dorian, her master?” Varania snorted. “Come now, Leto, I know I healed that concussion of yours. Anders was her master, remember? At least, until he grew too erratic and the anchor became unpredictable, and then she was taught by me. But she still thinks of him as master. I think she always hoped his increasingly volatile moods were just a temporary aberrance; we never dreamed it was actually a demon possessing him that made him behave that way. It explains much of what we had wondered though.”

“Sorry, I’m still feeling ...out of it,” Fenris said before closing his eyes again. “So tired sister, but so glad you’re here,” he said with a gentle squeeze to her fingers. 

“Brother,” said Varainia quietly, her tone become more grave and serious. 

The shift in her tone made him look at her and struggle to sit up. “What’s the matter? You sound worried all of a sudden.”

“Some of our people went down to the dungeons below the rotunda after some of the things that Anders babbled made them nervous. Leto... were you aware of what he had been making Zevran do for him?” Varania looked more serious and grave than Fenris ever remembered having seen her even back in the dim recesses of his memories of their childhood and the time before he was taken by Danarius. Even in the Hanged Man when she betrayed him, she did not seem to have this air of dread and almost fear about her.

“No...he kept many things from me, I’ve found out,” Fenris replied before looking away from her. “A lot of things have been revealed to me, sister, and I am uneasy.” He pulled his knees up and rested his arms on his knees, like he’d done as a boy in their master’s courtyard as he considered what evil Zevran had been forced into. 

“There were... bodies,” she said softly. “They had been tortured, that much was clear, brutally in many cases. The place reeked with old blood - far too much to account for the bodies we found there; whatever was going on there, it had obviously been taking place for years. Some may have been Venatori, but there were too many for them all to have been Corypheus’ people - and some... some might have been children. Whatever was done, it seemed to have been weakening the Veil steadily; it was almost mere shreds. Truly the work of a demon, one who sought to bring others through, I think. It reminded me of Danarius’ work, only far worse. The very stones themselves seemed to echo with fear, and you could practically _taste_ the evil in the air, Leto!” She shuddered in revulsion. “I have to wonder for the sanity of Zevran if he has been doing that demon’s bidding all this time.”

“As do I sister, as do I.” He fought back the urge to throw up; it wasn’t as if he was seeing the carnage, but he was able to envision it too easily, damn his imagination. “Wait, Dorian and Zevran - they need to be moved from the Rookery, and the Inquisitor’s rooms need to be sealed off if the Veil is so thin there. I felt how evil it was last time I was there. We have to fix this sister, else it will corrupt whoever takes charge. Zevran can’t go back in there until we heal the tears in the Veil.” He sat up until he had both her hands in his. “Promise me you won’t go back in there, and never alone. I won’t have you taken by a demon or influenced - promise me, Varania!”

“Calm yourself, Leto,” said Varania as she rose to her feet. “I’ll have them moved immediately and guards set around the rotunda so no-one can go up there. I think they chose to go up there because we were tending to you in here and Zevran didn’t want to be in anyone’s way - and Dorian wouldn’t hear of being parted from him,” she added.

“Have them moved here to Dorian’s rooms; I’ll be in mine once I think I can get there without needing help. Though I do want to check on them, and to see Pin.” He threw back the covers and stood up, but regretted it. “Maybe I’ll just stay here, everything still aches.” Fenris sat down and winced at how inflamed the skin around his brands was. “Can you have food sent to me?”

Varania nodded. “Of course. I’ll have people sent to fetch them immediately. Pin is up in her room, where she’s keeping an eye on Anders; he was too terrified to remain in the Inquisitor’s quarters. I’ll be back shortly.” She smiled reassuringly at Fenris before she hastened out, drawing the door closed quietly behind her.

Once she was gone, Fenris stretched out on his back and stared at the ceiling, utterly confused by this version of Varania, how nice she was - and in that moment hated Leto even more for having his sister back in his life. It had been a thing that always bothered him, that he’d lost her even though he’d gained Aeolus back; for as much as they fought like cats and dogs he still loved his brother. Who he hadn’t heard of or seen since landing in this strange world. 

**

He ate, slept a while longer, then ate again upon awakening some time in the early evening to find that Dorian and Zevran had been settled back in the room and were both curled up in each other’s arms in the bed next to him, both deep asleep - Zevran’s head resting upon Dorian’s chest, the magister’s arms wrapped protectively around him. Both looked utterly exhausted still.

Neither man had stirred as he had risen to eat from the tray of cold meats, bread and cheese that had been left upon the desk as they all slept. Fenris found himself unwilling to disturb their slumber - particularly in light of what Varania had told him of Zevran’s dark work.

He took the staff he’d found laid at the foot of the bed to find a guard near their room. “Until they come out of that room, let no one disturb them,” Fenris said before heading off to find Anders but realized he didn’t know exactly where the mage had been taken. He found a guard to lead him there; once they arrived, he was let in without a word. He found Pin sitting at Anders’ side, the mage in question asleep or unconscious. The room was lit by a myriad of candles - upon the desk, the table, the bedside tables; everywhere, upon every available surface, glowed the light of candle flames. 

“How is he doing?” he asked as he sat near Pin.

She darted him an odd look, but turned her attention to one of the candles that had begun flickering, thewick drowning in molten wax. She deftly trimmed the wick and replaced the candle, now shining bright and clear again. “Hello, Father,” she replied, her voice sounding tight. She glanced back to Anders where he lay sleeping. “He’s resting,” she said, quieter. “Once we managed to get him to drink the poppy juice he became very drowsy, but at least he was no longer screaming. He seems terrified of the dark. Once I realised, I had as many candles brought as possible to keep the room lit. He... babbled, mostly.”

Pin turned and began to pace slowly. “I don’t think he was always aware of what the demon was doing. He seems to have been imprisoned in his own mind, though there were times when the demon would let him watch from behind his own eyes and listen as the demon did things. All of which left their mark. It could take some time to work out just how much he was aware of what the demon did; perhaps we should hope it was very little. I’m not sure which would be worse - to be trapped in one’s own mind and know nothing, or to be trapped and to watch and listen as someone else controls your body. Some of the guards were gossiping earlier outside my door about what they found down in the dungeon. I hope he was spared seeing that.” She shuddered.

She turned and faced Fenris. “So. What made you choose to rise against him? You’ve been content to be his lackey this long.”

Fenris glanced away for a moment before speaking. “Pin...you might find this hard to believe, but I’m not Leto. I don’t belong here and I’m not the father you know. The wrong man was brought back after the fight with Nightmare, and once I saw how things were here - how he was going to kill Zevran - I couldn’t hide anymore.”

She stared at him for a moment the slowly folded her arms and arched one eyebrow. “Well, that’s different from your usual bullshit,” she said thoughtfully. “Normally you do what you want. Were you the man I thought I knew, you’d have let Zevran die as long as you could keep Dorian safe. After all, Dorian might be a man, but he’s a mage, and Zevran is just an assassin who perhaps had outlived his usefulness. But I should have guessed something was up when you went to see Zevran the second time in a day and nothing had happened to occasion it. I did find myself wondering... but then I ceased giving up trying to figure you out long ago. It was far easier to just keep out of your way. So, why are you here now? Thought you’d finish off what you started? Admit it - you only came here to find out how much of a threat Anders is to you now he’s lost his mind and his demon.” Her eyes were hard and unfriendly, the acid in her tone indicating how little she believed him.

Fenris stared at this version of his daughter in dismay, a little hurt at her tone before he tried again. “I’m not here to see how much of a threat he is, Pin, I wanted to check on him. I am not your father! I’m not Leto, I’m telling you the truth. Why would I come up with that kind of a story out of the blue? Haven’t you noticed how different Leto was acting since the fight? Anything out of the ordinary? I am not that good to have fooled my own child, believe me please?” he knelt in front of her and held out a hand. “Test my magic, see how different it is from his if you won’t believe anything else.”

She had taken a hasty step back as he knelt, suspicion in her eyes; but at his words she frowned then took a cautious half-step forward. Keeping her eyes on him, she held out one hand and touched his hand warily.

Fenris felt a tingle then an itch along his sensitive brands as she drew on a whisper of magic and then he felt his own magic rising beneath his skin in answer before she snatched her hand away and recoiled a step. “ _Venhedis_ \- but how? You made him scream - Zevran, we all heard it - I could hear it from here! And that, so soon after Dorian, too! Why would you do that, if you are not my father? I saw the state of Zevran myself - I brought water and food to him, though he didn’t touch the food.”

“I was trying to fool everyone into thinking I was Leto, I had no idea who I could trust. Dorian allowed to do so and well, Zevran fooled people with creams and bandages into thinking he was hurt worse than he was. I was able to heal him, which allowed him to get close to Vengeance and start the takeover. I feel terrible, and Zevran’s screams were all faked. I couldn’t have done that to him if I wanted. I’m sorry Pin, but your father is in my world and we’re both stuck in the wrong places until we figure out how to travel the Fade to get us put back.” Fenris rose and dusted himself off. 

“My daughter was like you when we first got her out of Tevinter, it took damned near a miracle for her to even talk to me. I don’t know what Leto has done but if he and I have anything in common; not having your affection is hurting him. I’ll get out of the way, and confess to Varania, hopefully she won’t be too angry with me for the deception.” 

She opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment Anders spoke, his voice slurred with sleep. “What am I doing here? No, this... this isn’t your room... who are you?”

“I should go, I don’t think he’ll want to see ‘Leto’ right now,” Fenris said as he backed away from them, eager to leave the room and them to talk.

“Ellowynne, I don’t know... don’t know... an Ell....” Anders’ voice tailed off as he sank back into a deeper sleep once more.

“Wait, that’s his daughter. Does he have a daughter here?” Fenris asked as he returned to the mage’s bedside. “There’s no way he should know who she is.” 

Pin frowned. “No, he has no children,” she replied, shaking her head. “But he’s been babbling like that on and off since he took the poppy juice. He calls out names that are meaningless.”

“What other names? In my world, he has found his daughter; she was in a Circle in Ferelden, at Ostwick; her name is Ellowynne. This Anders wouldn’t know that though,” Fenris asked as he sat next to him.

“Ostwick was annulled six months after the Seekers rose up,” replied Pin. “He’s mumbled something that sounded like ‘Hal’. And he babbled about someone called Ay... ayoh... Ayoh-us? Something like that. It wasn’t very clear. Oh, and he rambled on about someone called Arden who he was quite vehement isn’t dead - said that several times. I thought he was going to wake up fully but then he just dropped right under again. This Ellowynne one is new though; that’s the first time he’s mentioned that name.”

Fenris blanched at the names mentioned before scrubbing a hand over his face. “All people from my Thedas. Hal and Arden died in the fight against Nightmare as far as I knew. Aeolus is my brother, who I’m guessing has not been found or is dead here. I wonder if someone is reaching him through the Fade?” 

“I have no uncle,” said Pin. “Or if I do, then I’ve never heard of him. But if something is trying to reach him through the Fade, I’d best reweave the protection charms I put up. I suppose with so little of his mind left, he’d be attractive prey to some other demon.”

“I wonder...if I can be reached now that I know I have magic?” Fenris replied as he rose and paced. “I can call wisps, I wonder … Pin, do you have the ability to call wisps to you from the Fade? Can you give them directions like when I heal?” 

“I can,” she said dubiously. “But wisps are pretty lousy at taking directions unless it’s something trivial and simple. Healing is fairly straightforward - “this is broken, this is how it should be, fix it”. But I’m sure you’ve seen for yourself that for complex wounds you have to break that down to simple steps they can follow. So yes, I could call up wisps - or more powerful spirits if I needed to. It all depends what you want them to actually _do_ though.”

“I don’t know if they can do this but can a spirit contact Ellowynne if she’s walking the Fade and reaching out to people --” he fell quiet as he remembered Dorian muttering about a blonde woman. “Venhedis, I think Dorian saw her as well. I don’t know enough about magic to...dammit, why isn’t Dorian awake now that I need him?” He kept pacing around and muttering to himself until Pin got in his way to slow him down. 

“You’re making no sense,” she said. “You can’t just go walking the Fade like that. Yes, we mages enter the Fade when we sleep and we’re aware of what’s around us - but we can’t just go walking the deep Fade like that, much less look for someone else’s dreams. The _somniari_ of old were said to be able to do that, but there have been no _somniari_ for hundreds of years! Maybe one or two might live amongst the Dalish, but if this Ellowynne is the daughter of Anders in your world then she’s no Dalish. And we’re talking about someone who not only is a powerful _somniari_ , but somehow so powerful she can cross not only the Fade but to an entirely different reality to talk to the mirror of her father??” She regarded Fenris with disbelief. “Did you know she had this power? Because if you didn’t, does it seem likely that she would just suddenly develop it behind your back and be so adept in it to be able to reach Anders here?” She frowned. “Unless she was a senior enchanter in your Ostwick and managed to escape the annulment. I suppose a senior enchanter could have honed their ability over the years.”

“She’s part elven; and I don’t know, Pin. She’s also very young, so she’s not an Enchanter at all. But how else would Anders know her name?” Fenris asked as he sat down again. 

Pin shrugged. “That depends. If you’re at all like my father then you won’t have had your powers for very long. You might not have learned to guard your dreams from demons yet; a demon could have plucked the name from your dreams and be plaguing Anders now. Though now I think on it, you appear to be rather more adept at healing than my father is, which I would have picked up on if I hadn’t been distracted by the fact that Anders was dying and I was trying to hold onto his spirit before it could flee. So maybe you’ve been a mage for longer than the two years my father has.”

“Actually I just discovered my powers since getting brought here. It seems I have a knack for healing versus destruction however,” Fenris replied as he flexed his fingers, thinking of how he felt healing after the fight.

The flat look Pin gave him spoke louder than words; she clearly didn’t believe him. “Do you mean to tell me that in a few short days, you’ve mastered magic well enough to heal Zevran - and bring a man back from the brink of death after he’s had a knife through the throat and a sword through the heart?” she drawled disbelievingly. “My father has gotten pretty good at battlefield healing but even he couldn’t save my brother.”

A pained look flashed over Fenris’ face and he stared at the floor. “No...I can’t explain it, I know Zevran’s body thanks to an...incident where my Anders’ healing spirit showed me what it looks like to view someone through a healer’s senses. As for healing Anders? That was panic, and the wisps, along with you. If I had to do it alone, he would be dead now. I don’t know what I’m doing as a mage; and I’m so sorry Callus died here.” 

As he glanced up at her, he caught a look of something raw and vulnerable for a moment in her eyes before she turned away from him. “Not as sorry as I am,” she muttered, her voice thick.

Anders sighed and turned his head slightly, his eyes slowly drifting half open. “Dumat,” muttered Pin. “He’s waking again. He throws off the poppy juice so fast; it’s something to do with having been a warden I think.” She wiped at her face as she moved over to a side cabinet and pulled out a small, squat square bottle filled with a dark, syrupy liquid.

Anders gazed around, disoriented. His eyes fell on Fenris, oblivious to Pin as she carefully measured out a dose of the poppy juice.

“Leto?” he murmured drowsily. “Where did she go? The pretty blonde woman?”

“She had to go Anders, you should get some sleep alright? I’ll come back to visit later.” Fenris said as he watched Pin give him another dose, and felt something give at the peaceful look that came over him as the medicine kicked in. 

“I thought I was going to have to kill him, and that would have broken my heart to have to do,” he said as he watched Pin pull the covers up and take her seat once more. 

Pin was gazing at Anders with a sad look in her eyes. “That’s the quietest and most lucid he’s been since he first awoke after we brought him back here,” she said quietly. “Almost like my master again of old, before Corypheus was defeated from what others have told me. And like he was when first I was brought here. But we saw his gentle side less and less as time went on. He came back from Orlais with only one arm, and the other locked in a metal chest.” She dropped her gaze to the covers as she toyed with a loose thread. “That was when my father grew closer to him. And when the Inquisitor spent more time down in the dungeons beneath the rotunda with Zevran.”

“I’m sorry, Pin; I just hope that he can get back to being that man again with the demon gone. What do you need - have you eaten or slept at all?” Fenris asked.

“I need nothing,” she replied, a little archly as she straightened and threw him a cool look. “I shall send for food when I need it. You needn’t trouble yourself over me. After all, I’m not even your daughter.”

Her comment cut him, and he failed to keep from showing it before straightening up. “You may not be my Pin, but I ...I would not have you go without. Thank you for looking over Anders, I’ll come by tomorrow to check on him.” Fenris left before she could snap back at him, and headed straight for Dorian’s rooms so he could think and if the others were still asleep, maybe just go to bed.

As he entered the room, he glanced to the bed but saw only Dorian there, the magister sprawled in unconscious abandon across the bed, still deeply asleep. He took a few steps into the room and glanced around.

Zevran was sitting on the windowsill, half in and half out of the open window - his right leg hanging out over the wall, as he gazed up at the sky. He was sitting perfectly still, but as Fenris came to a halt, he moved slightly, tilting his head a little to glance almost but not quite at Fenris.

“I should have died there, I think,” he said softly. “But you brought me back. When they see what I have done, they will want to kill me.”

“People don’t always get what they want Zevran. We didn’t do all that for me to let anyone kill you,” Fenris said as he joined the other elf. “We need sleep, and tomorrow we start rebuilding. Someone has to take over - and I am going to get drunk once I find where Leto’s rooms are. My daughter here, the version of my child hates Leto. Though I proved I wasn’t him, she still rebuked me. My sis -- Varania here doesn’t yet know I lied to her; and when she finds out, I might be good as dead anyway. Don’t look for your death after surviving today.” 

Zevran chuckled softly as he gazed out across the courtyard. “I have never truly looked for my own death, save once - and I failed singularly that time. No, it seeks me out, Fenris. It ever has. I am merely being pragmatic. The Inquisitor, as such, is dead; I cannot count on my usefulness to him protecting me from my enemies any longer. And when they learn you are not Leto, then any protection I have as your plaything will also cease. I must be wary and look to my own protection and survival now.” He glanced up at the battlements, his eyes tracking the movement of the guards, looking for anything out of the ordinary in their movements, the pattern of their patrols. 

“You do not call her your sister,” he remarked in a conversational tone. “Tell me, do you call her sister in your world?” He finally glanced at Fenris properly. 

For a moment, Fenris could only see his own Zevran, lying white and bloodless on Solona’s bed, terrible stab wounds all over his body, dying in front of his very eyes. 

He shook his head to clear the image from his mind, trying to dispel the image. “She...betrayed me in my world. Tried to sell me back to our old master in exchange for becoming a magister. I spared her in Kirkwall, and then she ...nearly killed my Zevran, stabbed Anders and tried to make him heal my brother. She escaped us, but Aeolus keeps tabs on her. She...hurt me so much Zev.” Fenris curled up and sobbed quietly, sure the other elf didn’t want to witness his pain.

Zevran was watching him wordlessly, his face blank; it was impossible to guess at what he might be thinking. He glanced out over the courtyard, eyes distant. “Betrayal is such an ugly word,” he said softly. “An ugly word for an ugly thing. The pain can cut deeper than any knife.”

He didn’t look at Fenris, but he almost casually rested a hand upon the windowsill between them as he stared towards the setting sun - merely holding it there in mute offer of a touch in comfort but leaving it to Fenris to close that distance or not, as he chose.

Fenris had looked up at the other elf’s voice and noticed his hand resting between them. He took a chance and pulled Zevran to him, hopeful the blond would let himself be held or that he could be open with him. He’d shared more with him than he had with his husband, but Fenris was feeling fragile after the day - and waking to a gentler, kinder version of his sibling had disarmed him. 

Zevran let himself be drawn into Fenris’ arms, slipping his own arms around Fenris’ waist as he bowed his head. He held himself in silence for a while before drawing a slow, shuddering breath. “My friend, sometimes the deepest cut comes from those we have bared too much of ourselves to,” he murmured. “Or those to whom we have opened ourselves to in hope. And I think they leave the deepest scars.” He tried to chuckle but the sound was weak; the breath he drew was almost a low sob. “I have opened myself that way too rarely, and I have been cut deeply each time. Why do you think I have no heart? If I have no heart, then I cannot be hurt.” 

Fenris felt the flick of Zevran’s eyelashes against his arm as the elf curled in closer, and then he felt a speck of wetness. “But damn me, I still yet had a heart left when I met Leto,” he whispered. “Rinna, Taliesin, my dove Surana - all of them, one after the other - and Leto last of all. How can I lay myself open now to Dorian? What blade will _he_ wield against me?” He groaned softly. “When Leto returns... I cannot see what will happen.”

“He won’t...at least I don’t think he will,” Fenris replied as he bowed his head and wept. He felt himself shaking slightly, as he let go of all the feelings he’d been holding in for the time he’d been brought to this wrong world. “As for Leto, I will make sure he doesn’t hurt either of you. Even if it means killing him to keep you both safe.”

“I wish I could truly believe what you say,” whispered Zevran softly. “But my heart... what little is left of it... it tells me that there is nothing to be gained by baring itself to another anymore; it is merely an invitation for them to plunge a knife into it.” He straightened slowly and hesitantly lifted his head to stare up at Fenris. “And yet... here I am, and I think I have told you more than I have ever breathed to another.” He studied Fenris’ eyes. “I have not breathed any of this to Leto. I know he would have used it against me in some way. It hurt less to let him break my body as he wished. Yet I have placed my life in your hands over and over now, and here I am baring my heart.”

“The same is true of me, I have never breathed a word of how much my sister’s betrayal hurt me to anyone save Invictus, my first love. I have not even shed tears or told my Zevran how deep that wound goes.” Fenris gave him a weak smile as he wiped his face clean. “I fear what will happen if I get home and they find me so changed.” 

Zevran bowed his head and drew a hand across his eyes. “This... this opening up and exchanging such pain... it is more exhausting than any battle,” he muttered. “I would almost sooner fight Corypheus again....”

“Please do not say such things even in jest,” murmured a voice from the bed. Dorian hadn’t moved, not even to open his eyes as he spoke, but the magister was undeniably awake - and Fenris realised he had no idea how long ago the Tevinter mage’s breathing had changed from a dreamer’s cadence to that of one who had awakened. From the way he had felt Zevran jerk in surprise, it was clear that nor had Zevran.

“Easy, easy. It’s just Dorian,” Fenris said as he let the elf go and nudged him towards the bed. “I’ll go find Leto’s quarters so you two can talk.” 

Dorian sat up slowly, his hair sleep-mussed. “I think not,” he said in a soft voice. “What is between us now, has as much to do with you as it does to us. You are the one who started this, Fenris. And even now, you are a part of it.” His eyes went to Zevran, and the sharp grey softened a little. “Do you truly think I will betray you, Zevran?” he murmured.

Zevran glanced away. “And would you blame me?” he said, equally softly. “If you heard that, then what else did you hear?”

Dorian threw back the covers and turned to sit on the edge of the bed, regarding them both. “Enough, I think; and yet perhaps not enough,” he answered. “Some of what Leto has said and done begins to make more sense to me now. Betrayal seems to be one theme we are all far too familiar with.”

“I’d rather not be in the way while you two talk - after all, it doesn’t have to do with me aside from my...meddling, I suppose. There are some things you’d likely not want a stranger to hear even if I look like Leto. Who I want to strangle the more I hear of what he’s done here.” Fenris gave them both a tight smile as he finally looked to both men. “Besides, after today I want to get stupidly drunk and sleep for a couple of days before I have to deal with what we’ve done. You don’t want me around for that, I’m not nice when I get into my cups.”

Zevran glanced at him. “You have already seen me in mine,” he pointed out. “Are you, then, that much worse than I?” His mouth twisted in a dark, mirthless grin. “Perhaps you should tell Dorian just what it was I said to you, that first night you came to me in the Rookery,” he whispered. “Are you so sure you should leave Dorian and I alone?”

“That is not for me to say, and I never want to think on that night again, damn you!” Fenris snapped at the elf for bringing that up. He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair as he tried to settle his mind rather than storm off from them like he wanted. 

Zevran regarded him for a moment, then laughed quietly.

“Zevran?” asked Dorian in a careful tone. “What is it?” He glanced to Fenris. “Why does he ask that?”

The Antivan turned away from them both and walked over to the cabinet where Dorian kept drinks; he frowned as he pondered the various bottles then pulled out something older and dusty from the back before wandering back to the windowsill. He sat with his back to the open window as he pulled a knife from his boot and started opening the wax seal.

“I think we would both agree, Fenris, that I am not a nice man,” he remarked conversationally. “I lie, I cheat, I steal, I kill, I am a whore, and I am a blade for hire. So.” He opened the bottle and took a long pull then pointed the bottle at Fenris. “Tell me, Fenris. What manner of man am I, that Dorian should sully himself with me?”

“You’re not a whore, STOP saying that!” Fenris shouted as he whirled on Zevran and took the bottle away. “Stop it, stop it, _stop it!_ ” 

As Fenris shouted and rounded on him, Zevran flinched, wide-eyed, and as the taller elf snatched at the bottle he jerked back, forgetting the open window behind him. His look of wild-eyed alarm would almost have been comical were it not for the circumstances as he flung out a hand to catch himself but missed by scant inches and fell, soundless.

“Zevran!” screamed Dorian as he leapt from his seat and threw himself forwards, his hand managing to grab Zevran’s wrist at the last moment. The elf stared at him, his eyes wide in alarm as the magister hauled him back towards himself. Dorian’s muscles strained as he yanked the Antivan back into the room and into his arms then held him close.

“Don’t do that ever again,” said Dorian shakily as he held Zevran. “Never, ever do that again. After all we’ve been through, I couldn’t bear to lose you now.”

Zevran stared at Fenris over Dorian’s shoulder as his arms slowly came up to hug the magister back. The colour had drained from his face, though it seemed to slowly creep back as he drew a shaky breath.

“ _M-Mi dispiace,_ ” he managed.

“The apology should be mine, I nearly killed you in a fit of temper and feelings.” Fenris was subdued as he spoke, careful to shut and lock the window before skirting around the two men. “I’ll ...I should go,” he murmured.

“Damned near frightened the life out of me,” said Dorian, then sighed as he pulled away to grasp Zevran’s shoulders; the elf looked up at him. “Zevran, I don’t care that you lie, cheat and steal to survive; it hurts me that you think of yourself as a whore but Dumat, call yourself whatever you like so long as you never frighten me like that again,” he went on.

“You... do not care?” whispered Zevran.

“So long as you don’t lie to _me_ , no,” replied Dorian. “And I would rather you didn’t spread your legs for every man you wish something from - but given my own past proclivities, I would be a hypocrite indeed to hold that against you. Men do what needs must to survive, and some of us have had an easier ride of it than others. I won’t fault you for any of it, Zevran.”

Fenris had halted near the door, wanting to go but not able to do so. He felt bad for nearly causing Zevran to fall to his death but he didn’t want to leave them alone either. He leaned against the door to listen, unsure if they would be angry at him for trying to run and not going. 

Zevran glanced to Fenris, and Dorian glanced over at the taller elf before tugging Zevran back to him again and kissing him gently. Then he looked back to Fenris.

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “I’ve got him safe now. Do be a fellow and close the door behind you? We’ve a lot to talk about.” He stared down at Zevran again, then bent his head to kiss him once more, the Antivan’s eyes fluttering shut as he moaned softly.

Fenris left them to talk or whatever they were going to do; his only aim was to find Leto’s quarters and finish his plan to get stupidly drunk and sleep it off. He just hoped no one else would look for Leto - or they would find him acting very unlike their commander.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aeolus comes calling, and Anders encounters an unexpected guest.

It was three days later. They were settling a little uncertainly into a new normal for them all. Pin was occupied with working in the infirmary most days, and dined with her wife Marian though she generally joined Anders, Ellowynne, Vic and Zevran for breakfast each morning. Callus was occupied with his duties in the Chargers; for him, little had changed, save that he didn’t have to hunt up Garrett or one of the other mages to drop in on them to visit; Pin had remarked that first morning that it would be nice for Fenris when he got back to have both of them close at hand before she had fallen silent. They were all keenly feeling Fenris’ absence all the more acutely now Anders was awake; at each meal, Anders, Zevran and Invictus were painfully aware of the empty space at the table where Fenris should have been. 

It was now more than a week since they had returned from Adamant without Fenris; a week in which Leto had felt more and more how out of place he was - and how wrong his own version of Skyhold truly must be. The unclean darkness that had seemed to linger in every corner of Skyhold was absent from this fortress - save for in the vicinity of the Rookery, he fancied. He wasn’t sure just what it was about the rotunda and the Rookery specifically, but whilst away from it, he felt almost as though he could breathe easier. 

He couldn’t help but notice that Zevran seemed to have no nightmares whilst sleeping with Anders and Invictus, but the previous evening he knew Zevran had returned to the Rookery with assistance from Callus and the young dark-haired lad who seemed to be the brother-in-law of this world’s version of his daughter; and in the early hours he had been awakened by a shout from Zevran overhead. Despite his misgivings, he had remained in his room this time. 

It was now midmorning, and Leto was keenly aware that he had heard Zevran pacing - or rather, limping - restlessly often. Even as the tenth hour bell chimed out from the infirmary tower, he heard the Antivan’s halting footsteps once more as the elf limped the same path again - from the bed to the desk, from the desk to the balcony, and then after a few minutes, retracing his path.

Leto couldn’t bear to hear Zevran pacing any more but he was leery of going up to visit the elf, just in case Aeolus decided to show his face. Then he realized how stupid that was, and if he was going to be stuck in this world for a while he couldn’t worry about how others treated him to the point of keeping him still. He headed up the stairs carefully, knocking first so he didn’t get a blade to the chest for startling the Antivan. “Zevran?”

He heard the limping footsteps halt, and then Zevran’s voice. “Leto? Come in, my friend.”

As Leto pushed the door open, Zevran was limping slowly back towards the bed. “Did I disturb you?” asked the Antivan as he lowered himself to sit upon the bed. “My apologies. It was unintentional.”

“No, I have not been able to rest much since being brought here. I only wished to check on you since you don’t seem to be sleeping either,” Leto said as he approached the other elf. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked as he squatted in front of the blond. “Or do you wish to be left alone?”

Zevran lifted a hand towards Leto before checking himself. “I... do not wish to be alone,” he confessed. “But nor do I wish to inflict myself upon Anders and Invictus when in this mood - and certainly not my Wynne,” he added. “She would not understand.” He lowered his eyes to the floor by his feet. 

“What mood would that be? It cannot be worse than what I have inflicted upon my own Zevran; and seeing how much affection there is between you all, I wonder why mine continues to allow me in his life, or his bed,” Leto admitted. He’d caught the other elf’s movement but didn’t speak of it; if there was more comfort to be exchanged between them he would not be the one to initiate it.

Zevran ran a hand through his hair then pushed himself back to his feet once more, turning to head towards the desk again. “This restlessness,” he said, shaking his head. “There is a fey mood upon me and I must guard my tongue; I find myself on the brink of snapping, and this is none of their faults. It is some malady within me that I cannot heal with an elfroot potion or a night of sleep, and I cannot explain it. In the past, I might have gone out to some rough tavern or deliberately walked through certain streets until some fool thought to attack me and then I would have an excuse to fight - or to hurt; in such a mood all becomes one and I care not. But that has not been an outlet for me in many years - and indeed, I have not needed it in quite some time. But there it is.”

He reached the desk and turned to start limping towards the balcony. “The last time it struck me, I challenged Invictus to spar with me in the ring. I placed too much strain upon my leg and it cracked, but Invictus swears I came close to killing him. He has refused to spar with me ever since.”

“Have a go at Fenris’ brother, that will work out this mood of yours and teach him a lesson I bet,” Leto said as he watched Zevran wander the room. “I don’t think I should spar anyone here, I’ve managed to hurt some of my men that way and sundered one of my few friendships after I went too far.” 

Zevran halted and glanced back at him. “If Aeolus should show his face here now, I might at that,” he said darkly. “I might even offer to spar you, in spite of what you say, but I do not think that would be wise for either of us, eh? One of us might go too far, and unlike you I am no mage with the power to heal.”

Leto simply raised an eyebrow at Zevran’s veiled threat but didn’t rise to it. He knew how dangerous his Antivan was even when he’d had a go at him and pushed his limits. He didn’t know this elf well so he wouldn’t rise to the bait, yet. “Why don’t you spend time with Invictus, wear yourself out with a more pleasurable way to get your mind quiet instead of baiting me to fight?” 

“Was I speaking to myself when I said I would not inflict this upon them whilst in this mood?” snapped Zevran as he turned to glare at Leto. He stared at the taller elf for several heartbeats then dropped his gaze to the floor. “You see?” he said, softer. “This is why I keep away when I am like this. I am fit for no man’s company. Eventually, I will exhaust myself, and then I will sleep, and then I need not fear hurting them by my words or my actions. Anders will worry and be hurt, and Invictus will be torn between dealing with my mood and protecting Anders. And my Wynne... does not deserve this at all. She is a young woman who should be protected from me when I am like this.”

“Well if you sit here alone, you will stew with these thoughts and I know far too well what they are like. If you wish to fight, I’m here and it's not like I’m unused to fighting with my Zevran after all.” Leto headed to the drinks cabinet in search of brandy or wine for them, though he was aware of Zevran’s gaze on him as he made himself at home.

“You would spar with me?” asked Zevran as he watched, then slowly made his way towards the shelves where his knives were.

“If you wish, though I will not harm you. If I think I’m losing control or if you seem to be in too much pain I will stop. Is that fair?” Leto said before taking a sip of Zevran’s brandy. 

“You are a healer, and I have a high tolerance for pain,” shrugged Zevran. “I think it unlikely either of us could push the other to that point however. It is more likely that I will exhaust myself, and that is all I wish. A way to work off this damnable mood and let my mind be quiet enough to sleep without dreaming.”

“I’m a healer that had to learn the hard way, don’t bet anything on me being to fix something I do to your leg, especially since it’s such an old wound. I’ll spar but I will not add to your pain,” Leto said before taking another sip of the Antivan’s brandy. “This is a good year, thanks for sharing it with me.” 

Zevran turned back towards him, a long fighting knife in each hand. “There had best be some left for me afterwards,” he warned, a mirthless grin upon his face as he checked the bindings on the hafts of his knives. He sheathed them then belted them onto his hips before reaching for a wrist bracer.

“What if there isn’t? You wouldn’t stab a man over a drink would you?” Leto grinned as he finished off the glass and got ready to pour himself a second helping.

A throwing dagger embedded itself in the desk between Leto’s hand and the bottle.

“I might,” said Zevran softly.

“That’s a bit much don’t you think? It’s just brandy after all.” Leto said as he picked the dagger up and balanced it over his fingertips. “I don’t know about Fenris, but I’m pretty good with knives; I had an excellent teacher,” he said before he whipped it back at Zevran’s head, though he aimed a little higher and to the left. He grinned as the knife landed next to the blond’s head. 

Zevran barely blinked as the knife thudded into the wooden shelf so close that a couple of strands of hair were clipped free of his braid. He shook them back out of his eyes as he reached up to take hold of the knife and tug it free. “Very good,” he said softly. “But can you parry as well as you throw?”

The knife flew straight and true towards Leto’s heart.

Leto’s eyes widened as he saw the knife coming at him and he phased, but not fast enough to keep it from striking home. He’d moved enough so it didn’t pierce his heart but it did pierce his chest. He looked down as blood started to spread through his shirt and he was surprised at how much it hurt. “You...stabbed me,” he said before he slid from his chair and dropped to his knees. 

Zevran’s eyes widened in surprise. He had seen his own Fenris dodge knives so often through either speed or the use of his lyrium if he could not merely knock them aside with a blade or his hand that it had not occurred to him until the knife left his fingers that this Leto had no weapon with him.

“Damn me!” he exclaimed as he threw himself forward, ignoring the sudden flare of pain that raced down his leg as he threw himself down on his knees in front of the other elf. He tore off his own shirt and carefully wadded it up and pressed it around the knife blade, leaving the knife in place. 

“I am a damned fool,” he muttered to himself before lapsing into Antivan, swearing at himself under his breath as he pressed Leto to lie down. “I have a healing kit here - lay back and hold the cloth.” He turned to rise, gritting his teeth against the pain as his leg threatened to give way.

Leto did as he was told, grimacing as he started to feel the wound and the knife in his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to feel where it was with his magic but the pain was distracting him. The elven mage opened his eyes to find Zevran limping back to him and working with the healing kit. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I died here, at your hands? Half the time I expect my Zevran to snap and kill me you know. The way…” he grimaced as he felt the other elf touching the hilt of the knife and the cold glass of a healing potion against him. “Tell him I’m sorry if you ever meet him, Zev,” he mumbled.

“You will have the chance to tell him yourself, I swear it,” breathed Zevran as he took hold of the hilt firmly. “This will hurt, I am afraid - I am sorry, the knife must come out.” He stared down into the green eyes of the taller elf, his own eyes dark with worry and anger at himself for misjudging so badly and with such calamitous results. “I shall pull it out on three,” he added. “One... two....”

On “three” it felt like white-hot fire lancing through Leto as Zevran wrenched the knife free then poured the healing potion directly into the open wound, hissing and bubbling against the hot, wet blood that ran free.

Leto screamed for a moment until he felt the healing potion poured into the wound. He clenched his teeth as he felt his blood coming down. He forced himself to calm down and search for his power, enough to start himself healing, and enough so he didn’t fear his end was going to come so soon. After a while he felt the edges of the wound closing and the bleeding slow down until the only wetness he could feel was the cooling blood. “Was too slow, sorry,” he muttered before letting his eyes close and his head roll to the side. 

“Leto?” Zevran’s voice rose slightly in worry. “Leto - stay with me, open your eyes, my friend! Damn me for an irresponsible fool! Leto?” He could feel the Antivan’s deft fingers pulling open his shirt and patting his chest, looking for any trace of the wound. “Leto, open your eyes, please!”

He could hear a slight undercurrent of panic creeping into the Antivan’s voice as he lay there without responding.

Zevran glanced around wildly; the other elf was far too still and quiet. He turned and forced himself back to his feet, cursing his weakness as his leg threatened to give way again. He began to limp towards the door, now berating himself for the hours of pacing which had done nothing for his pain, exhaustion or mood but now slowed him.

“Zev? Zevran…” came a weak call of the blond elf’s name but that was all Leto could manage before he passed out. 

He had no way of telling how much time had passed before he came back to himself, but it was to find himself lying on a bed, and he could hear Zevran’s voice from somewhere nearby, murmuring to himself in his own tongue. As Leto opened his eyes he realised that Zevran had somehow managed to get him up off the floor and onto the bed; Zevran’s voice was coming from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

“Zevran?” Leto called out weakly, before he managed to lift his head and saw the blond elf. 

The muttering in Antivan ceased, and then Zevran turned his head slightly. “ _Si?_ ” he replied softly, his voice sounding subdued.

“What happened, did I pass out?” Leto said as he tried to raise up and winced. “Stop cursing yourself and come here… please?” he asked.

Zevran rose and made his way around the bed to stand beside Leto, his eyes downcast. “You passed out,” he nodded. “I did not dare leave you alone, so I put you upon my bed. The wound was barely healed, so I dressed it and I have been waiting for someone to come. But I think no-one could have heard you scream, or they would have come by now. I did not want you to find yourself alone when you awoke.”

“I’m used to waking up alone; why didn’t you send one of your birds? Or just let me lie on the floor? That had to hurt you picking me up,” Leto said as he looked up to the elf. 

“I took a stamina potion,” shrugged the Antivan. “I am in no discomfort. No worse than usual, anyway.”

“You lie about as well as I do,” Leto said tiredly. “You’re going to fall down any moment. Come lie with me; at least I’ll be warmer. Or send a bird to get Invictus and we can sleep.” The elf’s eyes were closing even as he spoke; he was still tired from healing himself and needed rest.

“You have no idea what I endure daily,” shrugged the Antivan as he straightened slightly. “This? it is nothing. If I am in discomfort when it wears off? I have elfroot.” He glanced back at the ravens. “And my birds are good at returning somewhere they have been, but it is not always possible to impress upon them the need to find a specific person - or in a timely manner.”

“Fine, be that way,” Leto said before he let his eyes close and he was soon sleeping deeply in the Antivan’s bed.

He awoke to the sounds of shouting. “And I say you had no right!” snarled Zevran. “I should gut you where you stand!”

“And _you_ cannot even stand!” retorted another voice - one that was shouting the last time he heard it as well. As his eyes snapped open, Leto recognised the voice of Aeolus, Fenris’ brother.

“I may be crippled, but I can still drop you with a knife from this chair,” retorted Zevran, his voice gone dangerously soft. “And if you do not leave _now_ , you will find out just how dangerous I may still be, crippled or no.”

“You don’t scare me, Zevran,” said Aeolus heavily. His voice sounded closer to the bed. 

“Take one more step and I drop you where you stand,” hissed Zevran. Leto remembered that tone of voice; he had heard it from his own Antivan whenever he was about to do something foolish that he knew was going to result in pain. The next moment, there was the hiss and thud of a thrown knife hitting one of the bedposts.

“What in the Void is wrong with you?” snarled Aeolus, his voice rapidly moving away from the bed, followed shortly by a dull thud and a pained grunt from the Antivan followed by Zevran’s breathless laughter.

Leto stood up quietly and grabbed the other elf from behind in a bear hug. “I believe he said to leave, are you unable to follow a simple request?” 

Zevran was doubled over, still laughing even as he as he clutched at his stomach. He managed to straighten enough to spit on the floor at their feet as Aeolus struggled.

“The whelp has brought his damnable sister to Skyhold,” Zevran growled.

“Did he hit you?” Leto asked as he clamped down harder on Aeolus. “Tell me he hit you so I can break him in half.” 

“Hit me?” Zevran laughed as he pushed himself upright, one hand still clutching at his stomach. “A love pat,” he declared derisively. “Hardly worth wasting effort on him for.” He pushed himself up out of the chair and then fell forward, clutching at the desk with a grunt of pain. He bowed his head for a moment before forcing himself upright and limping around the desk towards them slowly.

“We need her help!” growled Aeolus. “Whilst you dally with _him_ , there is nothing being done to bring my brother home! She holds the key; she knows far more about this than anyone here. She already found flaws in Dorian’s research!”

“She _tried to kill me!!_ ” howled Zevran as he lurched towards them. “She stabbed _mi cuore_! Have you forgotten yourself, _Nakusa_ , that she held you a slave?”

Aeolus went still for a moment, then he slammed his head back into Leto’s nose and surged forward with a howl of his own as his lyrium lit up in a blaze of light and he phased through Leto’s arms to hurl himself at Zevran.

“No you don’t,” Leto said as he threw out a crushing prison to hold Aeolus in place. “This ends now - whatever your quarrel, it ends here,” Leto said as he tilted his head back to stem the bleeding. “Dumat below that fucking hurts.” 

He grabbed a flannel and held it to stem the flow of blood. “A broken nose and getting stabbed was not on the docket today,” he mumbled before feeling his face and hissing at where his nose had been snapped. 

As he turned, he realised he could see no sign of Zevran. Aeolus was struggling, held in place by Leto’s force magic. As Leto made his way around the desk, he spotted the Antivan sprawled upon his back on the floor, his face pale, one hand still pressed to his stomach as he blinked at the ceiling.

Leto winced as he knelt next to the elf and worked to heal him, ignoring the swears from Aeolus as he sunk his consciousness into the slighter elf. He was worried since Zevran wasn’t complaining or cracking jokes. He frowned as he felt the bruising and internal bleeding from the other fighter’s hit. Pain was radiating through Zevran’s body, down the length of his spine.

“I’ll have to take you to the infirmary; this is beyond me.” He gently picked up the slighter elf; Zevran made a sound that was half-way between a gasp and a very faint keen of pain as he clutched at his stomach and his head fell back over Leto’s arm. His eyes were open, blinking dazedly at nothing; Leto frowned but turned and headed for the door, reinforcing his spell on the way out. “That will hold you long enough for me to get him to the infirmary. If you follow us, I will end you by closing this cage around you until you suffocate slowly. Leave Zevran alone or you will pay, sibling of Fenris.” Leto made his way to the door, hoping he was able to get the blond elf to healers who could help him.

“Leto,” whispered Zevran. “I found the fight I was looking for, yes?” His eyes had fluttered closed, his face grey with pain.

“Yes, yes you did,” Leto said as he hurried them to the infirmary, letting the healers settle on Zevran after he put him down. “I’ll get Anders’ daughter, she’s good at healing...then I need to reset my nose, ow.” He winced at the tight feeling in his chest from the barely healed wound, and wondered where the girl was. 

He was halfway back to the Rookery when he heard the sound of soft humming from the far corner of the library - coming from where his own Dorian used to sit to read, he realised. As he rounded the depleted stacks of shelves following the sound, he rounded a corner to find Anders’ daughter sitting in Dorian’s old chair, one foot tucked up under her as she leafed through a large, mouldering old tome, humming to herself.

“Ellowynne? Zevran needs you in the infirmary,” Leto said as he realized how he must look and what he’d said. “He’s not bleeding, this is ...my blood, but your uncle came back for a visit and they fought.”

She had looked up with a smile at his voice, but as she took in the state of his face and then his words, she set the book aside carefully. “How bad is it?” she asked gravely.

“I think he’s got a broken rib or two and some internal bleeding. It's more than I could heal so I took him to the infirmary,” Leto said as he watched the shift of her expression at his words and how angry she looked as she rose from the chair. 

She stared at his bloodied face and the stained bandage around his torso. “And did he stab you as well?” she asked tersely as she led them back through the library and towards the infirmary.

“No, the stab wound was Zevran, but he broke my nose,” Leto said as he walked with her until she was at Zevran’s side and working alongside the healers. He took a seat on a nearby cot and watched. 

“ _Zio?_ ” she asked softly. Zevran opened his eyes and smiled weakly at her.

“ _Il mio bambino,_ ” he murmured.

“What did he do to you?” she murmured, blue healing energy enveloping her hands as she laid them upon his chest and leg, careful to avoid the hand laid still over his stomach.

“A single hit,” he answered quietly. “But I felt my back give as I landed. I lifted Leto, and I think something tore inside.”

“Two broken ribs and a ruptured spleen,” she murmured, steel in her voice. “A compressed disk in your spine, and you’ve torn several muscles in your back and shoulders. You must lie still.”

“ _Si_ ,” he answered quietly.

“Can I help at all Wynne?” Leto asked as he heard them speaking, and felt a pang of guilt for how Zevran had hurt himself lifting him up. Ellowynne’s lips had thinned in anger, her eyes flashing much as he remembered those of Anders doing, back when there was more man and less demon in him.

“Do not be angry with him, Wynne,” murmured Zevran.

“I’m not angry with Leto,” she replied tersely. “I’m angry with _you_ \- and I’m bloody furious with Aeolus.”

“Serah Andersdottir, you’ll have to leave -” said one of the healers; she rounded on him with a snarl.

“No, _you_ will leave,” she growled. “You will go find Pin and Marian, and you’ll send them to attend my father - and you will tell my uncle Invictus that he is needed here, _now._ ”

The healer blanched, then backed away, leaving them alone.

Leto sat back and watched her work, a bit in awe of her anger and fearlessness when it came to protecting Zevran. “Wynne, should I leave you two alone?” 

She glanced up at him, then shook her head. “No, you should stay,” she said in a calmer voice. “This wasn’t your fault. I should have seen the mood my _Zio_ was in and known he’d do something foolish. I’m sorry you were the one who took the brunt on this occasion. It was my Uncle Invictus, last time.”

“I have told him,” said Zevran. His eyes were closed, the pinched look of pain slowly leaving his face. “This was all my fault.”

“Not all of it,” she disagreed. “And I doubt you intended for any of it to happen.”

“No, I did not,” whispered Zevran. “Leto... forgive me.” His voice had grown steadily fainter.

“Forgive me, I should not have goaded you.” Leto laid back finally and groaned, his expression tense as he felt his face and grimaced before trying to set his nose straight. “I hate doing this, the last time I got punched in the face Zevran had to fix it for me.”

“If you wait a little longer, I can do that for you,” replied Ellowynne. “I’ve nearly done all I can for _mi Zio_ Zevran.”

The Antivan had fallen silent; as she spoke, Leto glanced over and saw that Zevran’s eyes were closed, the hand that had earlier been clutched to his stomach now hanging limply over the side of the cot.

“Is he asleep or did he pass out?” Leto asked quietly. 

“Passed out,” said Ellowynne as she lowered her hands and stepped away. “Even with nerve blocks, he was in a lot of pain.” She glanced to him. “Would you like me to fix your nose?” she offered.

“If you wish, I would appreciate it.”

She moved around Zevran’s cot to Leto’s side. Resting a hand lightly on his forehead, she concentrated. He felt a wash of cooling, soothing magic flood over him that reminded him so much of Anders’ touch, so many years ago; the pain receded with the coolness, and then there was the sound of a nauseating crunch though he felt no pain. As the magic faded from his face, he felt his nose and found it straight once more, even as she moved to the wound in his chest. He felt more soothing coolness, and the pain receded there too as she set to work.

A few minutes later she stepped back and smiled. “There, how does it feel?” she asked.

“Much better, thank you, Wynne,” Leto said before turning on his side and relaxing finally. “He’s lucky to have you, even if you aren’t a child of his blood,” he said wistfully before closing his eyes and sighing. 

“Zevran has been as much a father to me as Anders has,” she replied quietly. “Even more than Invictus and Fenris. He was with my father on the day he came to fetch me from Ostwick. He taught me to fight with a blade when my mana is depleted; he taught me how to ride a horse.” Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Or a dracolisk. He was there for me when my father was sick, poisoned by an assassin; and when Father d-died -” She broke off and swallowed hard before she was able to carry on. “He was there for me in Orlais, and after - when we went home to Nevarra. I missed him so much, those four years when I was studying with my teacher - every bit as much as I missed Father.” Her expression turned fierce. “And Aeolus will pay for hurting him. This is the second time he has disturbed _mi Zio_ and hurt him, but I swear it will be the last!”

“I’m sure Invictus will be unhappy with him as well.” Leto said before drifting off. His rest was disturbed by Invictus swearing and pacing around the ward, his temper flaring with the magic that he could feel rising in the other mage. He opened an eye to watch the tall brunet create a path back and forth, his hands smoking as he ranted.

Ellowynne was standing between the two cots where Leto and Zevran rested; her arms were folded as she watched Invictus pacing, saying nothing. A swift glance at the other cot told Leto that somehow, Invictus’ ranting had not woken Zevran; the Antivan lay much as he’d last seen him, deeply unconscious, one hand still trailing limply over the edge of the cot.

Ellowynne turned her head slightly, and Leto realised she knew he was awake. She gave him a minute shake of the head, indicating he should keep silent as Invictus continued to rage, smoke coiling hot from the furious mage’s hands. Leto was unsurprised to find they were the only people on this ward, the healers having found somewhere else to be evidently.

The elf closed his eyes but listened as he heard Invictus ranting and swearing to tear Aeolus a new one the next time he saw him, as well as have some words for Leto once he was awake.  
“Every time he’s visited Zev, my husband has been sent to the infirmary or hurt, or upset. I know he’s not doing it but damn if he isn’t causing problems. Why couldn’t I have grabbed Fenris, how did I not know my own husband, my love well enough to not pick up … him?” Vic said in despair with a glance to the elf that was like his spouse, but not.

Ellowynne stirred, tilting her head at Invictus. “Uncle, Leto has visited _mi Zio_ twice. Is it his fault that each time, Aeolus has barged in upon Zevran without warning and taken upon himself to manhandle him? First by dragging him down here, and now by hitting him? Had Leto not been there, Maker only knows what Aeolus may have done to Zevran. He may very well have killed him. As for Leto himself, I dare say he asks himself that same question daily. Do you think he would choose to remain here if he had a choice? He must be asking himself why his own people didn’t pick him up - how they could have left him behind, mistaking another man for him?”

She took a step towards Invictus even as he turned back towards her, anger still burning hot in his face; she was undaunted however, standing her ground, her back straight as she stared him almost in the eyes. “Uncle, you yourself have been in the wrong Thedas. Remember how that felt. Remember how wrong it felt to see another Fenris, another Anders who were not _your_ Fenris, _your_ Anders.” Her voice became softer, gentler. “Can you not put yourself in his shoes and have empathy for him, Uncle?”

Ignoring the way his hands smoked, heat radiating from them, she closed the distance between them and laid her hand upon his arm as she gazed into his eyes. “Uncle,” she said softly. “Your anger is not with Leto. This was not his fault - none of it was.”

Invictus nodded even as he calmed himself. “I know Imp, I know. I’m just hurting and with Fenris missing, Anders barely healed and now Zev back here… I’m hitting my limit. You’re right, just like your papa,” he said with a smile. “Andersdottir indeed, in temper and wisdom Wynne. I’m glad he found you, and that you’re calm in all this.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and blinked...she wasn’t this tall before was she?

She smiled wryly, an expression that was pure Anders. “Well, one of us has to be,” she shrugged. “Pin and Callus aren’t exactly much better - Pin has been blaming herself that _she_ didn’t see that our Fenris was being taken by the other people - Leto’s people. But as I understand it, it was all rather chaotic at the end - what was it, people from _four_ different Thedases, all trying to leave through one portal before that Fade realm could collapse? Maker, it’s only a wonder that no-one else was left behind to keep poor Hal company.” She shook her head. “I wonder how many others may have found themselves in the wrong worlds too? But I know - I do understand how this feels, Uncle. When Leto brought word of _mi Zio_ to me, I could only be glad I was still in the library - I’d just found that book I was looking for, and thought I’d read it there instead of taking it back to my room, and I’m glad now I did. And Father is still so weak - it’s just like those early days back in the house in Nevarra, when we first brought him home.” Her face looked bleak as she glanced away for a moment, then she straightened her shoulders.

“But I’m older now,” she went on. “I’m no child, unable to control my temper or my magic. And things will be different. We _will_ get my Uncle Fenris back, and then Leto can go home.”

“I know Imp, I know. Thank you for being a voice of reason when I was losing myself. I just keep blaming myself for bringing the wrong man home.” Vic took a seat next to Zevran and brushed some of the loose hairs away from Zevran’s face. “If I see Aeolus I will kill him, he’s gone too far Imp.” 

Ellowynne took a seat near Leto’s feet. “You and I both, Uncle,” she said darkly. “I told him before that if he came near Zevran then I would kill him. I think only Fenris could stay my hand if he came near Zevran a third time - for I truly don’t know if I could control myself then. And I don’t think any of us would wish to see that happen; I’m far stronger now than I was as a child.” 

“You’re not a child anymore, are you? You’ve grown more than you should have in the few weeks, or was it months since we set out for Adamant. I’m not sure what happened, but for now I’m just happy you found us and you’re well. Once we get Fenris back, and Anders is back on his feet, I do want to know what happened on your adventures.” Vic kissed the back of Zevran’s hand before he got up. “I’m going to have some lunch then check on the mages’ work to see if I can help. If you see Dorian, please let him know to find me?” 

Ellowynne’s smile had taken on a slightly strange twist as Invictus mentioned her adventures; she glanced away, by chance towards Leto - and for a moment he thought he saw a strange, alien look in her eyes. He’d thought her eyes were amber, like her father’s - but for that brief instant he could have sworn he saw them as green. 

But then she glanced back to Invictus and they were amber, and he told himself it must have been a trick of the light; Ellowynne was nodding.

“Of course, Uncle. I’ll sit with _mi Zio_ for a while then take Father’s lunch to him; he was sleeping when I left him earlier. Maker help Aeolus if he disturbs _him_ as well.”

“If Aeolus has any sense he’ll leave us all alone,” Vic muttered.

“If my spell hasn’t worn off, he’s still in the Rooker,.” Leto said as he sat up rubbing his eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you to get lunch, I’m starved.” 

Ellowynne glanced to him with a faint smile, even as Invictus started slightly. “You _should_ eat,” she nodded. “You’d expended energy on healing before you brought _Zio_ here, and then of course I had to heal your knife wound and nose - so your body has to replenish its reserves. You should eat heartily; your body needs it now.”

“Knife wound? Did Aeolus stab you and punch Zevran?” Vic asked as he looked the elf over. “Don’t you heal faster thanks to Mythals’ changes?”

Leto looked away as he fidgeted, bouncing from one foot to the other as Fenris used to. “No...that was Zevran’s doing but my fault for not dodging. I do heal faster, but I was a little stunned at getting a knife in the chest instead of just sparring.” 

Before Invictus could react, Ellowynne gave a low chuckle. “You know how _mi Zio_ is when he is in one of his moods, Uncle; didn’t he fight you to a stand-still and near-broke his leg again the last time? Perhaps you should be glad it wasn’t _you_ who took a knife to the chest! Though it’s been a long time since one of his fey moods has struck him thus; _mi Zio_ must be feeling worse about this whole situation than he has been letting on - and perhaps hiding away in his Rookery has been bad for him. Perhaps I should go fetch his things down so he can stay with Father for a while.”

“I think it would be good...he doesn’t sleep well in the Rookery. He often wakes and paces, if nightmares don’t wake him first. Something isn’t right there, it feels..wrong, like home for me now that I think about it. The evil done in my Skyhold would make you want to flee it. I didn’t ...I couldn’t see it while there, it's why I don’t want to return,” Leto added as he stared down the other mages. 

“The Rookery feels wrong?” echoed Ellowynne. “Interesting. Then I think perhaps I will go there now.” She rose to her feet and swung her dark gold braid back over her shoulder. “Let me see if I can feel what it is that might be affecting _mi Zio_ so badly.”

“No, you will not. Stay with Zevran,” Vic said tersely. “Leto and I will check it out after we’ve had something to eat. I’ve had enough bullshit with demons to last me a while and I will not have Anders ready to kill me if something is up there and latches on to you.”

Ellowynne regarded Invictus steadily, a look of steel in her eyes and a certain set to her jaw that both men recognised all too well from her sire; regardless of how full-blooded elven she might appear at first glance, in that moment she was pure Anders once more. “I think you’ll find I’m capable of looking after myself, Uncle Invictus,” she said quietly. “I did not have anyone holding my hand the entire way from Skyhold when I set out to follow you. Nor when I killed men who tried to waylay me. I am not a child, and I will not suffer to be treated like one. I am at no more risk of being possessed than _you_.” She arched an eyebrow. “Indeed, a good deal less.”

“That was a low blow Ellowynne,” Vic said quietly, his expression anguished as he remembered feeling helpless as he hurt his loved ones. “Do as you wish, I’ll be in my rooms. Leto, if you’re coming with me, let’s go.” 

The tall elf looked between the two for a moment before following Invictus, who was almost running as he headed for the kitchens. “What happened? There’s clearly some history there.” 

Ellowynne watched them leave; her shoulders slumped once Invictus was gone from view. “Forgive me, Uncle,” she murmured. She glanced to Zevran, who was starting to stir, his eyelids fluttering. 

“And forgive me, _mi Zio_ ,” whe whispered as she touched a fingertip to the elf’s forehead and with a whisper of mana sent him back into a deep sleep. Then she turned and headed back towards the rotunda.

The library was empty as she passed through, but now she was more focused and aware, she could feel it - a vague sense of unease and disquiet. She hurried up the stairs to the Rookery and pushed open the door.

It was empty as she walked into the large main room; she was the only living thing, save for the ravens which watched her with dark alien eyes in silence. She paced the room, extending her senses as she walked back and forth. Here - a cold feeling; there - a prickling down her spine. The feeling of unease grew as she approached the large, heavy wooden four-poster bed. She fingered the throwing knife embedded in one upright post thoughtfully, then leaned over it.

There was a sudden flash through her mind - a vision; Zevran sprawled upon the bed, Fenris hunched over him, teeth fastened in the Antivan’s shoulder as Zevran screamed; ropes bound tight around the tanned flesh at wrist and ankle, whip marks down the backs of his thighs -

She jerked back with a gasp, but she could still hear Zevran’s scream. A name.

_Leto._

**

Invictus was silent as he fetched food from the kitchen; Leto felt ill at ease and out of place as he followed. The other mage had refused to be drawn on what had happened between him and his step-daughter; he was heading back towards the rooms he shared at present with Anders, and Leto had found himself following, given that his own rooms were close by.

“You should say nothing about this to Anders,” warned Invictus tightly.

“Why would I say anything to Anders?” Leto asked, wary at the other man’s dark mood.

“How should I know?” snapped Invictus tersely. “But he may ask after her. Tell him she’s with Pin, or over at the college.” He turned the corner that led towards their rooms; Leto knew that he should continue on if he was returning to his own rooms, but something in Invictus’ tone had him intrigued and not a little worried. It reminded him of how a certain tone would creep into Endrin’s voice, years ago, when he was furious and yet also heartsick.

“I’m sorry Invictus...I ...I heard you say how I’ve been a bother. I’ll not breathe a word to anyone of this, I swear it.” Leto glanced away, unsure what to say to the other man. He felt drawn to him, though he didn’t know Invictus, or any of them well; however he didn’t want to upset him any more, the others were a different matter. 

Invictus’ footsteps slowed, then he came to a halt with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry,” he finally said after a moment. “The Imp was right; you weren’t really the one at fault. Wrong place at the wrong time I guess. I’m just... frustrated, angry, worried sick. Zev’s been hurt too often, and it just eats at me to see him stuck in an infirmary bed yet again. Anders will ask after him, and I don’t want him worried - and if he knew that there were something up there -” He broke off and shook his head. “I shouldn’t have let her go, but she gets so damned like her father, and I never could talk sense into _him_ either, when he was like this. That was a cheap shot but then again, given the hell we gave her after the house fire back in Nevarra I guess she has the right to take a few cracks back at me - and Void knows, I’ve probably earned it.” He ran a hand slowly over his face. 

“I’ll stay out of the way then, if it helps. I doubt any of you want to see me anyway with your husband missing,” Leto said as he let his hand drift up to the amulet he kept on him at all times. It had the Hawke crest on it, and inside was a ring he’d meant to give Endrin before he was killed. “Sorry, you … get to me for some reason, it's almost like being around Endrin in a way, though you look nothing like he did.” 

Invictus stared at him. “My middle name is Endrin,” he said slowly.

“The Maker hates me, doesn’t he?” Leto whispered as he stared at Invictus before he started giggling and walking away for a few feet then back towards the other mage. “I came to a world where the other me is loved, happy, has multiple spouses...his children love him, and his son still lives. And now this, to find he still has his Hawke and your name is Endrin. What evil have I done to have such a cruel joke played on me? Is this you, Mythal; are you enjoying my pain?” The elf slid against a wall as he tried to keep collected but found it hard.

“Leto?” asked Invictus as he approached the elf cautiously. The white-haired elf was behaving pretty similarly to how his own Fenris would react when pushed pretty close to his limits. He took half a step closer. “Leto... you’re looking pretty rough. I think -” He broke off and looked around; the hall was empty, and they were a little closer to Anders’ rooms than they were to Hal’s old room - and given its proximity to the Rookery, right now he wasn’t sure letting Leto go back on his own would be a good idea. “I think you ought to come back with me. You look like you could use a drink.”

Leto looked up at him and laughed bitterly. “I don’t need a drink, I need to be home. I need...my Dorian, my life,” he whispered. 

“I know,” said Invictus heavily. “Believe it or not, I’ve been where you are now. Dragged into a world that wasn’t mine, with versions of the people I knew - a world where the Fenris I saw wasn’t _my_ Fenris, and he was in love with a Hawke who wasn’t me. A Hawke who looked rather like Anders - and at that point, I’d never been too friendly or kind to Anders. But you’ve met that Hawke; that was Arden. He was kind to me, at a time when I could really use a little human kindness, and I can’t stand by and watch you like this and not try to do the same. So I know I’m not your Endrin, and this isn’t your world - but a drink and some peace and quiet can go a long way, I’ve found.”

“Peace?” whispered Leto. “How can you talk to me of peace?”

Invictus chuckled darkly. “Oh, I know - who’d expect that from me, of all people? Maker knows we’ve had little enough peace ourselves - still don’t have it, with that bastard Aeolus running around, trying his damnedest to kill Zevran, Anders one bad scare away from another heart attack, my step-daughter risking herself up in the Rookery - and Andraste’s tits, I’m praying heartily she finds nothing worse than raven’s droppings up there because if anything happened to her, it’d be the death of her father and I’m not sure but what it wouldn’t kill Zevran too. And you’re not my Fenris but I’m not about to walk away and leave you to fall to pieces like this, out here, where no-one else gives a rat’s ass about you. So come with me, have that drink - and if you want to go to pieces there, then be my guest.”

“I’d rather not send Anders on another turn,” Leto said as he watched Invictus carefully, unsure if he wanted to let himself trust another Hawke. He finally stood up and dusted himself off as he waited for the other mage to lead him to food and drink. 

“Unlikely; he’s been asking about you anyway,” shrugged Invictus. “He’s been worried about you, and maybe if he’s distracted by you then he won’t think to ask about his daughter. He’s going stir-crazy anyway; maybe having a guest might make him behave.” He started leading the way back towards Anders’ rooms.

Anders was sitting up in a chair when they got there, an open book on his lap though his eyes wee on the fire, a far-away look in his eyes. He glanced around as they entered, and for a moment a hopeful look dawned in his eyes before he took in the way Leto moved, the slump of the elf’s shoulders, and he sat back in his chair with a wistful expression. He smiled gently at Leto however, and made to rise to greet him.

“Stay put please, I know you have been ill,” Leto said quietly as he folded his arms and waited for Vic to give him the drink he was promised. He didn’t have long to wait before a goblet was pressed into his hand and he was nudged towards a chair. 

Anders settled back in his chair with a sigh. “Seems all anyone wants to see me do is just rest - it was hard enough to persuade Vic to let me get out of bed,” he remarked, though there was no censure in the fond look he gave his husband. “Between him, Ellowynne and Zevran, it’s a wonder I’m allowed out of bed at all - but I do get heartily bored of lying there, staring at the ceiling. I go a little stir-crazy after a while and then apparently I have past form for doing something stupid.” He raised an eyebrow at Invictus.

“Don’t start with me, I’ve already had a day and its barely noon. I’ve asked for food to be sent to us since I’m guessing you haven’t eaten either,” Vic replied as he took a chair and a large goblet of wine. 

Anders blinked, then lowered his gaze to his hands. “Sorry, Vic,” he said colourlessly. “I... I forgot. I wasn’t hungry.”

It was Leto’s turn to be surprised at the change in Anders; certainly the man he knew was never that cowed by anyone. He glanced between them, feeling more uncomfortable as he sat there. He took a large swig of his drink, hoping to finish and leave soon.

“Love... I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated - and not with you. Forgive me please?” Vic said as he knelt in front of the blond and held him. 

“No, it’s - you’ve had so much happen, and I - I wasn’t thinking, I was only making it worse, and I didn’t want to worry you -” stammered Anders, before glancing up at Leto and going quiet as he saw the elf’s expression. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

“No need to apologize to me, I’m the interloper after all,” Leto said before finishing his wine. “Look at that, my wine is gone, I should really get going… somewhere.” He stood up, despite the glare he got from Invictus. 

“Sit...down,” Vic snapped before turning on the charm as he comforted Anders. “I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to be like that, I guess I’m losing it a bit myself. Please don’t turn in on yourself because of me.”

Anders was regarding Vic with an anxious look, his eyes flicking back up to Leto again before back to the man before him. He managed a weak smile. “It’s not been an easy time for any of us,” he replied. “If ever Meneris talks about going back to Adamant, I think I shall refuse - it’s obviously bad for my health.” He tried to laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d... like a glass of wine, Vic,” he asked softly - as though afraid Vic would refuse.

“Here you go, take mine. I probably should lay off the drink with how its making me feel,” Vic said quietly before turning to Leto who was standing there, looking a little lost. “Leto?” 

The elf was watching them as he realized just what he’d been doing to his Dorian, how he’d been so sweet when he felt like it but abusive as well. He knew Invictus didn’t beat the others - well, he assumed so, but he couldn’t imagine this Anders staying with him if he had. Certainly he didn’t think he could raise a hand to Ellowynne - not unless he wanted to lose it, Leto reflected. He didn’t say anything however as he cycled through memories of rough, angry sex with Zevran before spending the night with Dorian, gentler than he had been until his mage submitted. He found his mind turning on an image of Invictus laying into his Zevran and then laying gently with this weaker, more fragile Anders, and tried to shake it off as he stared at the blond mage.

Anders sipped his wine, glancing up at Leto over the rim of his cup. He’d felt the elf’s stare, and it made him feel self-conscious, his cheeks growing hot. He wondered how this must look to him, and he lowered his eyes, embarrassed over how he must look and feeling even more guilty.

“Vic, will Zevran join us tonight do you think?” he asked, trying for a change of subject over his own behaviour. “I’m a little worried about his mood yesterday. I know he was trying hard not to snap at me - but honestly, I almost wish he _would_ , because something’s eating at him and it can’t be good for him to let it fester.”

“I think so, he was napping when I left him and I ran into Leto,” Vic said as he poured more wine for Leto and none so gently pushed him toward the chair he’d left. “I’m sure Leto could use the company as could I.” 

“Yeah, company...sure,” Leto said as he took a seat and stared at Invictus as if he was finally seeing him for the first time. He had lied right to Anders’ face - and had asked _him_ not to tell the blond about their altercation. “Food would be good I suppose.”

Anders had laid his book aside and slumped a little in his chair - or, Leto mused, perhaps ‘wilted’ would have been a better term. Anders stared into his cup of wine, his cheeks looking slightly red; he took another mouthful before he looked up again just in time to see Leto schooling his face into neutrality. Anders was pretty certain he hadn’t mistaken the brief intent look the elf had been giving Vic however, and he glanced at his husband, wondering what had occasioned it. He glanced back to Leto as Vic turned to recork the wine, and arched an eyebrow at Leto in mute query.

Leto looked away, his attention on his glass of wine, the floor or anywhere other than at the mage before him. He glanced at Invictus but didn’t speak, as he’d been telling the truth about Vic getting to him. Finding out his middle name was the same as his departed lover’s hadn’t helped.

Anders noted the way that the white-haired elf avoided his eyes. He sighed silently, the tension in the room feeling oppressive and heavy. He lowered his gaze - and then his attention was drawn by the glint of something about Leto’s neck, and he squinted a little, trying to make out what it was. As the elf glanced away, his shirt gaped open briefly, and the amulet swung into view - gold, with what looked like the Hawke crest on it. 

“Fenris doesn’t have -” he found himself blurting out, then went silent as both Vic and Leto stared back at him. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry... your amulet,” he managed. “It caught my eye. Fenris has one from Vic but it’s not like yours. I....” He fell silent as Leto continued to stare at him.

The elf reached up to cover the amulet, almost as if he felt the need to protect it. “Fenris also has a living, breathing Hawke he got to marry,” Leto said quietly. 

“I am so, so sorry,” said Anders, as he went pale. “I- I’m sorry, that was so insensitive of me - forgive me, I’ll shut up now. I never -” He bowed his head, hiding a little behind his hair. “Right, shutting up now, nice one Anders,” he said in a falsely bright tone.

If Anders had not dropped his gaze, he would have seen the naked hurt and want on Leto’s face before the elf got himself under control. “It’s been fun but I need to go before I lose my temper or my mind, maybe both.” He finished his drink and left before Invictus or Anders could stop him. 

Anders looked up and bit his lip as the elf fled, then looked to Vic. “I’m sorry, I had no idea - I just, I saw it and I just found myself blurting that out - I am an absolute idiot.” He pushed himself up out of his chair and took a step towards the door. “Maker, I have to apologise - find a way to make this right; that was so stupid of me!”

“Let him be for now, he’s had a rough morning as did I. If he’s anything like our love, he might need time to cool off first. I think we need to let him be to himself for a couple days because except for the time he hid from us while we were still at Adamant, poor sod hasn’t had any time to just think.” Vic sighed as he sat on their bed and tried to calm himself. “I said I was going to check on the mages’ progress, but I just want to sleep.”

“I’ll go,” said Anders. “I need to get out of this room and breathe fresh air anyway, and I should be fine just walking to the college and back - and then maybe I’d feel less useless and like I’m annoying everyone,” he added, trying to keep the sharpness out of his tone. He turned back towards the door again. “Besides, I haven’t had a chance to speak to Parcival yet - I was out for the count when I was brought back, and since I woke up I haven’t left these rooms.”

“Take your staff and wake me when you come back. I hope a nap will improve my mood - and I’m sorry for snapping at you, love,” Vic said contritely. 

Anders nodded. “I will - and of course, I understand. You’re just tired,” he shrugged as he turned to reach for his staff. “Huh, Ellowynne left her staff behind,” he remarked as he spotted Freedom’s Call leaning against the wall, next to his own and Invictus’ staves. “I wonder where she’s gone? oh well, it’s not like she’s going to need it around the keep anyway.” He picked up his staff, blew Vic a kiss, then headed off.

He was glad of the staff before he’d even left the main keep; he’d underestimated how breathless he would feel, and by the time he was halfway across the courtyard he was walking rather slower. He had to pause by the steps that led up to the college tower entrance, even though there weren’t as many as to the keep itself. After a while though, he’d caught his breath and was able to make it up the stairs.

He passed the apprentice classrooms and headed up the stairs, wondering to himself what on earth had ever possessed him, when helping to draw up the original plans, to suggest putting the senior enchanters and research rooms on the fourth floor above the ground floor. He had to pause for breath as he reached each level, and by the time he was halfway up the final flight of stairs he had to sit down, his heart beating erratically in his chest as he gasped for breath. It took him several minutes before he was able to catch his breath enough to reach the top.

The hall was quiet; he checked in Parcival’s office but he wasn’t there, and all the senior enchanters appeared to be teaching. He poked his head around the door of one of the research libraries and spotted a red-haired mage with her back to him.

“Oh, sorry - didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Anders said breathlessly. “I was just looking for the First Enchanter - have you seen him?”

She knew that voice, from a time she was not proud of but she couldn’t ignore the mage at her back. The elven woman turned slowly and gave Anders a grin. “I’ll let Parcival know you were looking for him, Anders.” 

He felt the blood drain from his face as he stared at her. He wasn’t aware he’d moved until his back hit the wall and he could retreat no further. He suddenly couldn’t catch his breath - and it had nothing to do with the flights of stairs he’d laboriously climbed.

“You... you can’t be here,” he breathed. “Not... not possible....”

“It is, thanks to Aeolus, who is a bit more pragmatic than the lot of you.” Varania turned but didn’t rise from her seat, not when she saw the way Anders had responded to running across her. “My research can help get my whelp of a brother back - and despite our rocky beginning, Aeolus was willing to reach out to me.” 

“Rocky beginning?” Anders laughed in disbelief. “You kept him in chains! You kept his _name_ from him, for Andraste’s sakes! You - after all you did to him, what you did to Zevran and I was the least of it, and you left Zevran for _dead!_ ” Without realising it, his hand had crept up to rub the shoulder that still bore a scar from her knife even now. “You stabbed me, poisoned me with magebane - and yet he brought you here,” he whispered.

Varania scowled at him as he ranted. “Yes, he did. If you don’t want my help I can leave, you know. Aeolus warned me that you all would not appreciate my presence, but I’d hoped you would let me help get Leto back. I know he hates me, but isn’t tolerating me worth getting him back or would you rather he languish in some other place with people he doesn’t know, or that may harm him?” She rose and slowly approached Anders with her hands visible, her staff laid next to the desk she’d been working at. “I know you have no reason to trust me, and likely after Leto returns, he’ll want me gone so it’s not as if you’ll have to deal with me. I will find somewhere else to work so you don’t have to see me until I have answers.” 

Anders rubbed his chest; it was still hard to breathe, and he felt dizzy. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, staring up at her. “I’ll do anything to get Fenris back,” he managed. His voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

“I was hoping you’d say that, and that we can work to get my brother back though I doubt he will thank me or be grateful for his return.” Varania turned back to the desk and sat, not liking how he looked. “Should I send for Parcival so he can escort you to the infirmary? You look a bit peaked.” 

“No,” Anders managed, adding hastily, “but thank you for your concern. Your... research. Are you using blood magic?”

She rolled her eyes and glared at him. “No, that was a requirement that I do not use such magic unless it meant we couldn’t rescue Leto otherwise. I have sworn to use everything but blood magic to get him back, and my research has not led me down that road. Else it would not be accepted outside Tevinter’s borders, as you should know. My work is studied in the Colleges but none know who I am, if they did I wouldn’t have gotten two steps out of the gate before someone had slaughtered me.” Varania wanted to get back to her work but she knew she had to convince Anders so he could talk the others into not wanting to kill her on sight. 

Anders closed his eyes, hating himself even as he spoke. “If it takes blood magic to get Fenris back, then... then I will agree to it. I said I would do anything to get him back, and I mean it.” He opened his eyes to stare back at her. “I cannot do it myself, but I will help you. And if you require blood, then... then you may take mine.”

“If it comes to that, honestly Aeolus or this other version of my brother would be better suited to my needs. However, I don’t think I will need to go that route. If it changes, I will have to negotiate with Aeolus so my life is not forfeit in our bargain.” Varania turned to the book she’d been taking notes from then back to Anders briefly. “If you don’t mind, I should get back to work so I can solve this little puzzle and get out of everyone’s hair sooner than later.”

Anders nodded. “I just need to catch my breath, then I’ll leave you in peace,” he murmured. He drew his knees up then folded his arms on them before resting his forehead on his arms, closing his eyes. His heart was racing erratically, and it suddenly occurred to him that there were far too many stairs to climb down in his current condition. He lifted his head a little. “Varania,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry to further trouble you, but I think I would rather appreciate it if you would find one of the senior students to help me downstairs again. And then I will see you are left in peace.”

“Of course, just take a seat and I’ll be right back.” Varania headed off to a find a student. She looked around until she found another red-headed mage along with a boy who looked a lot like Leto had as a teenager. 

The girl looked round at her and arched an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” she remarked, then straightened as she suddenly realised. “Oh, wait - you must be the visiting researcher the First Enchanter mentioned! You look really familiar for some reason.” She frowned. “Have we met before?”

Varania shook her head no before looking between the two younger elves. “No, we’ve never met but your friend looks so much like my sibling when we were younger - it’s a bit uncanny.” 

“Must be something in the water - there seem to be a lot of people who show up at Skyhold looking like other people,” replied Pin as she glanced to Callus. “Arden.” Her brother nodded sombrely. She turned back to Varania. “Can we help you? If you were looking for Parcival, he left to go over to the infirmary about an hour ago, I’m afraid.”

“No, Anders needs help getting back to his rooms and asked me to find a senior student.” Varania moved aside as the girl’s expression shifted at mention of Anders. “He’s by Parcival’s office.” 

Callus had been staring at the woman, and at his sister before he realized why she looked familiar. “Pin… look at her again, she looks like papa.” 

Pin was only half-listening, her eyes had widened in horror at mention of Anders. “Master Anders is _here_? Dumat - no, why?? He shouldn’t even be out of bed, much less have climbed all these stairs - I don’t suppose he thought to say that he had a heart attack only a week ago, did he? _Venhedis_ , the man is so damned stubborn!”

“A heart attack? He shouldn’t be out of bed, you’re right,” Varania said before she caught what Callus had said. 

“And you look so much like him as a young man, its a bit unnerving,” she answered before glancing at her niece. “You’re the children he found then?” 

“Wait... you... you knew our father when he was young?” said Pin slowly. “Are....” She rose to her feet and stared hard at Varania. “You’re my father’s sister,” she said quietly. “What are you doing here - and what have you done to Master Anders?” Fire suddenly wreathed around her hands as a wild wind whipped her hair up and Varania could hear spirit voices all around them. “If you’ve hurt Master Anders, I will hurt _you_ ,” she said softly. “My father has spoken of you.”

“I see my reputation precedes me even here. I have done nothing to him, but he asked me to find a senior student after climbing up those stairs and finding me instead of Parcival. I will stay here until you can see him for yourself.” Varania simply tilted her head and stared down her niece, dispelling the flames with a gesture. 

“I’ll help you Pin, and you… stay away from us. Father has told us of your betrayal and we want nothing to do with you, nothing,” Callus snarled. 

Pin backed away from her, wide-eyed, then turned and ran in the direction of Parcival’s office to find Anders. As she rounded the corner, she spied Anders sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, one hand pressed against his chest. His hand was glowing weakly blue; as he heard her footsteps, he opened his eyes and glanced around at her then managed a weak smile.

“Pin! Thank the Maker. I can’t get down those stairs again, and I left my pills behind in my room. I... need your help.” He glanced up as Callus appeared behind his sister. “Oh... Cal! Wasn’t expecting to see you too.”

“And we weren’t expecting to see you - _or_ father’s sister,” said Pin tersely. “Cal, help me get him up off the floor.”

“Father’s... oh. You... you met Varania then,” said Anders, and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach as he stared at Pin. His words to Varania echoed in his head - his vow that he would do anything to bring Fenris back, including assisting her to use blood magic. And here was Fenris’ mage daughter, every drop of blood in her body bearing magic and far more potent than that of Aeolus.

“Master? _Venhedis_ \- Cal, catch him, I’ll cast a portal!” cried Pin.

As Anders found himself falling, all he could think was,

_Maker. What have I done?_


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life after the coup carries on, but there's always something to be done. Fenris has changed them but was it for the better? Emotions run high and hot as Zevran and Fenris put on a act neither wants a part in.

Life after the coup changed for the better for most of the Inquisition. There was the question of who would lead now that Anders was no longer fit to do so. Dorian was the most Senior mage among them, but Leto as far as anyone knew was in charge of their forces. Zevran was considered by a few, but not many trusted the Spymaster, especially after word of what was found in the dungeons. It was this argument that had them alone with Josephine in the war room four days later, trying to decide who would lead until they heard from Orlais.

Zevran had insisted on returning to the Rookery and been practically sat on by Dorian who refused to allow him to return there. He’d spent a rather uncomfortable few days cooped up in Dorian’s room; the first couple of days there had been a silence spell near-constantly on their room, but by the fourth day it seemed that sex had definitely failed to completely curb his restlessness and indeed, Dorian was too exhausted to keep up with his new-found bedmate. Zevran had not dared leave for fear of being attacked in light of what had been found - and in fact Josephine had had to deal with several deputations sent by people who felt that the spymaster ought to be locked up in the dungeons or, preferably, strung up much as the Inquisitor had intended to do. Even Zevran’s own people were laying low. Zevran was not used to being a prisoner, even in such comparative luxury as Dorian’s rooms. Now he prowled the war room restlessly, one eye ever on the door, a knife in his hand that he twirled like a nervous habit.

Fenris had withdrawn from them after leaving Dorian’s rooms, keeping his word on getting incredibly drunk and sleeping it off before Josephine had come to check on him after receiving word of the Commander locking himself in his quarters and seeing no one, even his sister or his companions in taking over the Inquisition. The elf looked exhausted as he leaned over the table and split his attention between watching Zevran pace and Dorian tapping his nails against the top of the desk. He glared at the Antivan elf as he continued to walk around with that damned knife in his hands. 

“Can you stop tapping your fingers, the noise is irritating,” he said finally to the magister. Fenris also snarled at Zevran as he watched him pacing. “You already sliced your hand open before we fought Vengeance, do you want a repeat of that when I am in no shape to heal?” 

Dorian snatched his hands away from the surface of the desk and looked contrite; Zevran held still, not quite looking at Fenris as he slowly slid the knife back into its wrist sheath.

“ _Amatus_ ,” said Dorian quietly, staring at Zevran.

“I have been caged for almost a week and I swear that I cannot breathe for being stifled,” said Zevran in a low voice after a moment. “You may walk where you will, Fenris - no-one would dare raise a hand against the Commander, after all. But Zevran Arainai was not made to live in a cage, gilded though it may be, and if I am restless, then is it any wonder?” He turned his head a little towards Fenris, not quite meeting his stare. “So. Do not snap and snarl at me, Fenris who is not Leto. It is not you who has to listen to whispers of how he should be strung up as the Inquisitor had intended.” He turned and resumed his silent pacing, though he left the knife where it was.

Fenris glared at Dorian for calling another _amatus_ so easily. “Fine, do what the Void you want after this meeting, which we should start unless we’re going to just watch each other pace around the damned table,” the elf snapped. 

Zevran flung himself gracelessly into a chair and glared back at him, meeting his eye this time. “The Inquisitor ran this place, the whole Inquisition, as a dictatorship.” He tilted his head to one side as he stared at Fenris. “Everyone is expecting that this whole affair was simply for you to take his place. So. You say you will not allow Leto to merely waltz right back into our lives as though he had never left - what do you propose we should do then, eh? The Inquisition has _always_ been run by one man - and the rest of us merely servants. We advise, we do our duties - and there are some of us that it seems people would like to pay with our lives for doing those duties - but we have never led, and we have always been aware that we are very far from equal and we do not rule. The only one who ever came close to challenging his power has been Leto.”

“Zevran does have a point,” nodded Josephine. “Everyone will be expecting Leto to take over, and there are many who are starting to question why you do not. Cassandra will be here in another week, but until then it will be difficult for us to rule as a group - despite the way he said it, Zevran is right. There _are_ those who would like nothing less than to see him swing from a noose, though I don’t think they would dare do more than merely talk about it. And Dorian has only ever really been one of his researchers and advisers - mostly kept on lately because he is Leto’s lover. People are starting to notice that you are not sleeping in Dorian’s rooms anymore however, and questioning just who is occupying his bed now.”

Fenris had listened as they spoke, he’d had an idea but he wasn’t sure how well it would go over. He braced himself before looking up at them then pacing as he laid out his plan. “I had the following idea, and it may seem ridiculous but hear me out.”

He walked around the table, voice steady despite himself. “You all have said that Anders ran the Inquisition almost single handedly. So it would not be strange if we ran it as a group thanks to that. I will pardon Zevran, he was acting under duress and frankly was forced into a lot of the atrocities he committed.” He held up a hand when Zevran opened his mouth to protest.

“Let me finish. Dorian is the most senior mage here, and with Anders incapacitated, it would make most sense for him to advise Leto. The position is a compromise for his freedom from the Commander’s bed and thanks for his service. After the coup, and learning of all that happened, Leto needed time alone and wants to focus on keeping the Inquisition running - call it a break, if you will, but he is aware that Zevran and Dorian have become more... _friendly_. But since his affairs are his own, anyone questioning him about it will meet a swift end or exile and blacklisting.”

Fenris picked up his drink as he made another circuit of the room, as he finished up the plan and hoped they didn’t think he’d lost his mind. “The rooms of the Inquisitor will be sealed after any documents or items we need are taken and sent to my rooms. The Rookery will be closed but not sealed pending an investigation by a group of mages led by Dorian, to show how weak the Veil is there and how it affected our Spy Master’s behavior and lend credence to my pardon. We rule as a group, and we tell the others what our plans are. Anders led by violence - well, that demon did. We will not do that. You can name me Inquisitor but it will be in name only, the four of us will be the real power behind the throne here. And I want that monstrosity taken out, it reminds me of Tevinter. So, we rule, and hopefully whenever Leto comes back we have a very long, very blunt talk with him before you decide whether he is allowed to truly rule with you or if he finds himself sent off with some gold and well wishes. Or if I get home first? I’ll kill him.” 

“They will never fall for it,” said Zevran quietly. “If I were truly to be pardoned, Leto would have done so the moment the coup was successful. But I know Leto far too well. He would never have allowed Dorian and I to be together like this. He would either have killed me - or thrown me in a cell himself. If he were to pardon me, he would make a show of it - demonstrating his power over our lives. If you wish to pardon me, you should do it as he would or they will not believe it.”

Josephine tapped her writing desk thoughtfully. “Zevran does have a point,” she pondered. “Even if injured, the moment he was capable of leaving his bed then he would have given orders. It’s happened before, after all.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “We’ll simply say we’ve had him under arrest in my rooms as I’ve been keeping him under control. If we put the word around that I’ve been keeping him under an enchanted sleep, who’s to say the rabble will know any different? They’re not to know I can do no such thing. We’ll produce him with his wrists in irons, have this big show of a pardon, ‘Leto’ here issues some dire threat of - of defenestrating you or some such if you step out of line and it’s your last chance or something, and the rabble are appeased and go on their happy way.”

“Leto did make a thing about it last time, it is true,” nodded Josephine. Zevran was staring grimly at the surface of the table, not looking at any of them. “And yes, there was... parading in irons. There is merit in Dorian’s suggestion. Though on that occasion, Zevran _was_ confined to a cell. Being kept under an enchanted sleep by the dread Tevinter magister would probably be viewed as a worse punishment.”

“Yes, thank you, Josie; we all know how I’m viewed by most of the people,” replied Dorian archly. “You forget that if Leto hadn’t locked Zevran up, on that occasion Vengeance was most certainly going to have made an example of him. This wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to hang Zevran, after all.”

“You could say that I am almost growing used to the threat by now,” added Zevran softly. He was still staring at the table however, rather than looking up at anyone. “So. I have been under a spelled sleep, I awaken with my hands in chains, I am paraded in front of the court then magnanimously pardoned by the new Inquisitor as he has done before. Wrists duly slapped, I return to my work, the rabble have had their circus, and life goes on, eh?”

Fenris had taken a seat, unnerved by the discussion, the way that they were casually talking about how he had to feign being cruel to Zevran, even if he was irritated by the elf and Dorian. “We need to do this before dinner then, so Zevran can be seen and I can go sleep after getting incredibly drunk once we do this.” He wouldn’t look at them, even as he knew they were right. He’d merely wanted to march Zevran in or have him brought in by Dorian, not have this nug and pony show. 

Zevran had looked up at him, his face almost mask-like. “That means only a few hours from now,” he said quietly. “I... see. At least this time, I know what to expect, eh?”

“Zevran -” began Josephine; he shook his head. 

“No. Enough. That is the past - but after this, I will never wear chains again - for Leto or for any other man. I am done with being afraid!” He glanced to Dorian. “Let us return. I... am not looking forward to this. Fenris is not the only one who will wish to get drunk after.” 

“A moment, Zevran,” said Josephine before turning to Fenris. “We can do this now. I can have manacles brought, and then Dorian will escort him out when we send for him. The sooner this is over and done, the sooner Zevran can walk the keep as a free man.”

“Give me an hour, I should be in armor for this performance. Afterwards, you’re free to do as you wish with your _amatus_ ,” Fenris snapped before leaving them all to stare at the door he’d slammed. 

“Gather everyone in the throne room, I have an announcement to make in one hour,” he said to a guard on his way past. 

It was precisely one hour later that Fenris returned to the Great Hall to find it thronged, a buzz of conversation in the air as people tried to guess what was going on. As Fenris made his way through towards the dais and his throne, he caught fragments of conversation in passing - enough to work out that many there were expecting there to be some show trial of the former spymaster. Quite a number seemed to expect the worst, and it was disquieting to Fenris to realise just how truly Zevran had spoken when he had said he was feared and hated.

Fenris took his seat and the crowd was hushed, but another ripple of whispering went out as Josephine appeared and made her way through the hall to take up what was her customary position during trials and judgements.

“Commander, as per your orders, the prisoner has been kept under enchanted sedation by the magister Dorian,” she said without preamble. “He has been awakened and awaits your judgement.”

“Those gathered will part for Zevran to approach the throne.” Fenris watched as the crowd parted and Dorian appeared. Behind him, two guards fell in either side of the figure of the spymaster and marched the Antivan elf up towards the dais.

Zevran’s head was bowed, his hands shackled behind his back; he stumbled, rather than walked, like a man walking half in a dream - or one who had been barely awoken from one. As Fenris watched, the Antivan tripped slightly and fell heavily with a low cry. After a moment, he managed to get back to his knees, and then his feet, looking around dazedly at the gathered crowd before stumbling onwards. As they reached a spot perhaps ten feet away from Fenris they halted, and the two guards shoved Zevran down onto his knees. He darted a fearful glance up at Fenris as though he had belatedly realised where he was and what was going on, then bowed his head.

“Zevran Arainai, Crow Master and spymaster of the Inquisition, do you know why you’ve been brought here before me? Speak clearly so the assembled can hear you,” Fenris said with a malicious sneer that would have made Leto proud. 

Zevran cleared his throat, then lifted his head to stare up at Fenris. “I... I have transgressed against... against too many. I... committed murder, torture; I have slaughtered many... many innocents.” He swallowed, and there was the glint of tears upon his cheeks. “Those who... who met my blades were... were innocent of wrongdoing. I have killed men, women, and....”

Zevran bowed his head as the next word exploded from him in a sob. “....Children.”

Fenris stared at him in disgust for a moment before smiling like he was about to do something incredibly wrong and get away with it. He steepled his fingers as he stared down at the elf. “I know your regret is real, and also that you did not act entirely of your own will. Many of the acts we discovered after deposing the former Inquisitor were done under duress at his command, and not by your choice; is this correct?” 

Zevran lifted his head slightly, enough to gaze at Fenris’ feet; he managed to nod, jerkily. In the sudden silence throughout the hall, his hoarse whisper was clearly heard.

“Yes. It is true. Everything you say is true.”

Fenris lifted his head and stared over the assembled group, that malicious grin never dropping. “We have also investigated and found that the veil is thin in many parts of the Keep. Including the Rookery where our spymaster resided, the dungeons where many of these atrocities occurred and even near the former Inquisitor's quarters.

“It is because of this, and the effect it had on him as well as the demon you all followed for years, myself included that I am granting Zevran Arainai a full pardon. However, if he lifts a hand to harm me, Senior Enchanter Pavus or Ambassador Montilyet, or anyone without explicit leave from me, he will be beheaded in the courtyard at my pleasure. Do you understand and accept this pardon, Spy Master?” Fenris had dropped his gaze to the smaller elf, his expression more like his old masters than he liked. 

Zevran had raised his head at the mention of beheading, and the colour had drained from him as he stared at Fenris. The guard to his left had to nudge him twice before he nodded once. “Yes,” he managed to whisper.

“Louder, let them hear you before I pronounce you free. Do you, Zevran Arainai, understand the terms of your pardon?” Fenris asked again.

“Yes!” cried Zevran, his eyes still fixed on Fenris. 

“You all heard him, his acceptance of how very much his life depends on making up for the wrongs committed under the name of the Inquisitor before me. Guards, release him and let him stand with me, Pavus, and Josephine for the second part of my pronouncement.” Fenris relaxed slightly but he kept his gaze on the crowd, just in case someone decided they didn’t like his pardon. 

As the manacles were removed from his wrists, Zevran kept his eyes on Fenris. “My lord is merciful,” he whispered.

“I’ve got better sense than to kill you when it was not your doing,” Fenris said as Zevran joined him on the left, and Dorian on the right, and Josephine stood with her countryman, an arm behind his back as they listened.

“It’s been a few days since Anders was ...removed as Inquisitor and things have been strained as most of you know. It’s no simple thing to remove evil, and many of us needed time to recover - even I took injuries that had me in the infirmary. Then decisions had to be made before we could address you.”

Fenris stood as he spoke, his gaze still scanning the crowd to catch anyone that didn’t want to hear them. “We found, in addition to weakness in the veil, that Anders had run things almost single handedly; he let no one in, even me. I found out about the dungeons when you did, and it showed that things had to change if the Inquisition is to survive this change in leadership. No longer will one man rule with an iron fist, keep secrets even from their advisors and confidants. No longer will such atrocities happen under order of our banner. After long discussions and hard decisions, we four will run the Inquisition going forward.

“Dorian will take the title of First Enchanter as the most senior mage here. Ambassador Montilyet will continue in her role but with more knowledge of what is going on, and will get us to a place of pride once more rather than being an organization run by paranoia. Zevran will continue in his role as Spymaster but with far more transparency in what he is doing for us and not commiting murder in my name. I will take the role of Inquisitor, but not as a dictator or sole ruler. I’ll actually have advisors I listen to and help me lead. 

“Do you, the assembled, hear us and accept?” he asked as he spotted his sister. He decided to let her be until after he was done speaking.

There was a susurrus of whispering and low murmurs all around the hall at these proposed changes. Dorian darted a brief glance at Zevran, who was staring forward as if not entirely aware of everything going on; as the elf looked up at Fenris, his face once more mask-like, then turned his gaze out across the crowd, he wondered how much of that was an act and how much were Zevran’s remembrance of the last time he had worn manacles before the throng. Then Dorian glanced down at Zevran’s wrists. They were chafed and bleeding; the Antivan had been struggling against them every step towards Fenris - and Dorian had never realised, as he had walked in front of the Antivan. 

Dorian looked back out at the throng, who were now shouting affirmation and agreement. He found himself thinking they would have made the same noises if Leto had pronounced death upon Zevran - or if he had stated he alone were dictator. They cared nothing for Zevran the man, or for any of the rest of them standing upon the dais next to Fenris; they cared only that life would return to normal, and he wondered inwardly just how far any of Fenris’ proposed changes would truly reach. 

He kept his eyes forward and said nothing.

Fenris took a seat and stared out over the crowd for a moment before glancing at Josephine. “Will you end this for us Ambassador?” 

Josephine stepped forward. “The decision of the Inquisitor has been made and judgement passed. From henceforth, the Crow Master, Zevran Arainai is declared a free man and once more Spymaster of the Inquisition, with all rights, _protections_ -” she stressed firmly, causing a ripple of silence to spread out, “- and privileges pertaining to the position. Let word be passed to all; the decision of the Inquisitor is law. Dismissed!”

“Wait until the hall is cleared, then we can disperse,” Fenris murmured as he watched everyone filing out, even Varania though she did give a look at him before leaving with Pin in front of her. Once the they were alone save the door guards, the elven mage led them silently back to the war room where he went straight to the cupboard where he’d found whiskey earlier. 

“It’s done...tomorrow, we can work, right now...I need to be alone,” Fenris said as he gave up pouring himself a drink; his hand shook too badly and he felt like he was going to collapse now that they were alone. 

Zevran was standing to one side, rubbing his wrists slowly with a perplexed look, as if only just noticing he were bleeding; at Fenris’ words, he glanced up.

“Where do I sleep?” he asked quietly.

“With me, of course, _amatus_ ,” replied Dorian. “Where else?”

“It will be expected that the Spymaster has his own quarters,” said Zevran, still in the same quiet voice. “The Rookery is denied me. I and my birds require new quarters. Where?”

“In Dorian’s rooms - Josephine, have a notice put on the door to the Rookery; and if anyone dares ask why you are sharing his rooms, Arainai, tell them to jump off a balustrade and that its none of their business. An official answer is that until we can get that place cleansed by a templar or someone adept at closing the Veil - since unlike Anders, I can’t - it’s off limits even to the Spymaster, end of,” Fenris said from where he’d hunched over in a chair in a corner, away from them. 

“I’ll have one of the older towers restored to usable state as swiftly as possible for a new Rookery, Zevran,” said Josephine. “I’ll have temporary quarters set up for the birds tomorrow.”

Zevran glanced at her, then inclined his head slightly. “Very well.” He glanced back down to his wrists again. “I think... that I need a drink,” he added quietly. 

“Zevran... that was quite a masterful performance,” said Josephine as she gave him a smile. “Even I almost thought it was real, and I was right here planning it with you all!”

“Oh, you thought so?” asked Zevran with a faint smile that did not reach his eyes. “Maybe I should let you into a little secret, eh?” He leaned forward and said quietly but clearly, “My dear, to me it is _always_ real. Others believe my lies because I live them. The man who told Leto that he was merciful? _He_ at that point truly believed that he had just been pardoned - and that he will be beheaded if he transgresses.”

“That’s truly awful, Zevran,” said Josephine quietly.

“And now I would rather like a bottle of Antivan brandy.”

“You shall have it, Zevran,” nodded Josephine as she hurried from the room. As the door closed behind her, Zevran dropped into the nearest chair and stared at his hands.

“Zevran -” began Dorian, but the Spymaster shook his head and waved him away. With a sigh, Dorian turned and glanced at Fenris. He took in the untouched glass, the still-full bottle of whiskey, then with another glance back at Zevran he went and poured a measure of whiskey and set it in front of Fenris.

“Y’know, I should hate you for that little performance,” he murmured almost conversationally. “I could see from Zevran’s eyes that he was reliving every moment of the last time Leto hauled him up in front of the court like that. The beheading threat was a masterful touch by the way - very believable. Zevran certainly believed it, I think. But do you know, I think I’ll reserve my hate for Leto. Because Zevran would never have believed a word of it if Leto hadn’t conditioned him like that. And maybe Zevran goaded him first, and maybe it was Vengeance - but it was Leto’s voice that made those threats and I’ll kill Leto rather than let him do that to Zevran ever again.” 

Dorian poured a glass of whiskey for himself. “So I suppose I have to thank you instead. Thank you, Fenris. You’re still a bastard though.”

He drank the whiskey then coughed, setting down the glass. “ _Venhedis_ , that stuff is foul! Can’t fathom how on earth you manage to drink it!”

Fenris looked at Dorian, his face wet with tears and his arms wrapped around himself as he stared at the magister. His voice was a low rasp as he spoke. “You can’t hate me more than I hated myself Dorian, no one ever could. Don’t thank me, not for being able to do that. That last bit.... Wasn’t called for, since neither of you know me, and Maker willing I’ll be gone before you get the chance to.” He stepped away from the magister, let his brands light and left them for his quarters, the darkness of the room and hopefully silence until the new day. 

The other man had hit too close to home with his remarks, though he couldn’t have known it; but he already hated himself for being able to pull off that performance, for each cruel word and haughty sneer he’d put on for the audience. He locked every door and climbed to the bed that was his for the moment and laid there mired in his thoughts. 

**

His hangover had worn off a couple of days later when he took up the reins properly. They’d had a few days’ grace after the coup, but Cassandra would be arriving in a few more days, and in the meantime he knew that scout’s reports and other intelligence would be piling up on his desk. Zevran had told him on that first evening that he generally brought the reports to Leto and would go over them with him, but it was still a shock when Fenris climbed down from his quarters into his office to find Zevran already waiting for him. 

The Antivan was sitting on his desk amid the piles of reports and papers, peeling an apple with one of his numerous knives. The cuts about his wrists had healed into scabs.

“You are late,” said Zevran cheerily. “I am eating your breakfast. These are very good apples, you know.” He glanced up with an unconcerned, cheeky grin, then dropped his attention back to what he was doing. “I have sorted your reports for you according to priority. There is coffee and more food on the tray by the door; I suggest you refresh yourself, and then we may start, yes? There is a rather alarming report of a dragon that has been seen by the borders of Ferelden and Orlais, and several scouts say that the Orlesians are claiming a blood mage controls it. I think them fanciful, but it would be well to investigate in case we have a little Venatori mopping up to do.”

Fenris glanced at the reports and food, and schooled his expression into something normal. He’d wanted to start his day alone and not find the damned Antivan already in his office. “I can eat and work at the same time,” he muttered crossly as he got coffee and some fruit for himself and set to reading reports rather than talk to the other elf. 

“That one regards slaver activity on the Sword Coast,” said Zevran as he tapped the report in Fenris’ hand with the tip of his knife before cutting a slice of apple and eating it. Fenris found himself a little resentfully wondering if he had behaved like this around Leto.

“Watch your blade, I’d rather not start the day being stabbed if you don’t mind,” Fenris said as he sat back so he was out of reach of the blond. He even held the report up so he didn’t have to see Zevran if he could help it.

“I never stab my friends accidentally,” shrugged Zevran. “Or hardly ever.” He cut another slice of apple. “We have scouts in the area, but it will take them a little while to report back. Lace Harding leads them however, and I trust her with my life so you can be sure her intelligence is trustworthy.” He popped the slice of apple into his mouth.

“You’ve made it clear I’m no friend of yours; so has Pavus, so I don’t trust you won’t slip. After all, if I wind up dead, no one will care. I have heard how little people care for the Commander, especially after he took over,” Fenris sniped before taking up another report.

“On the contrary,” shrugged Zevran. “My life has been spared, I am a free man, and I do not bear grudges save against other Crows or assassins. For which, you understand, it is merely strictly business. Now. You have three proposals of matrimony - none from rich dowagers, alas. I have taken the liberty of sending gift baskets to all three with your polite refusals, and further correspondence from them will be dealt with by Josie.” He gave Fenris a bright smile. “And you are welcome, my lord.” He cut another slice of apple and offered it to Fenris.

That set Fenris into a rage when he already resented the elf’s presence first thing in the morning. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d wanted, but that mocking little dig was enough to have him out of his chair and backhanding the shorter elf in anger. He threw up a silence spell that wasn’t great but it would do since he hadn’t planned to shout. 

“Let’s make one thing clear, I am not going to let you goad me or mock me while I’m _Leto_ for the purpose of keeping the Inquisition running. Go to Dorian, go somewhere but leave me alone until I have to see you. I don’t want to come down and find you have made yourself far too comfortable and familiar in here. Now leave,” Fenris said quietly as he rubbed his hand and walked to the window to cool down.

The blow had caught Zevran completely by surprise; he had fallen from the desk in a flurry of reports and notes, and was now slowly pushing himself up a little shakily from where he’d landed sprawling on the floor. He stared at Fenris in shock as he lifted a hand to his lips, and then he stared at the blood upon his fingertips in surprise.

“Y-you struck me,” whispered Zevran, his voice shaking slightly. “You have made me bleed....”

“It’s just a split lip, it will stop soon enough,” Fenris replied with a glance back at the elf. “Leave me alone Zevran, I hope you and Dorian are happy together here.” 

Zevran got slowly to his feet, lifting his hand to his lips again, his eyes filled with bewilderment. “Yes, ser,” he whispered as he backed away, his knife and apple forgotten. 

“Don’t call me ser, I’m not _him_. Sit down and gather yourself, it won’t do for you to run out of here looking like that.” Fenris got a flannel from the wash basin and approached the blond elf, who had fallen back into a nearby chair, looking a little stunned and wary now. Kneeling to dab the blood from his face, Fenris shook his head. “I can’t do this, I should leave and let you three run things.” 

“What did I do wrong?” whispered Zevran. “Leto and I have often breakfasted together whilst discussing the reports. I... I don’t understand - did I do something wrong?” He let his eyes lift briefly to Fenris’ face then dropped. “Leto, I would have been prepared for, but....” He rubbed the scabs on his wrists absently. “I am sorry!”

“Too quickly you’ve forgotten I’m not him. I wasn’t prepared or wanted to see you yet. I’m afraid my jealousy and...anger has gotten the better of me. I’m sorry Zevran, but I’m not doing well after the coup, and the ...mocking, the goading is not something I was ready for. Now that I know, I can play along,” Fenris admitted. 

“It is but my way,” shrugged Zevran. He touched the split lip and smiled faintly. “This... this I remember though. I will remember my place in future.”

“No, stop it,” Fenris said as he ran a thumb over the elf’s lip and healed it. “Your place is as an equal, not as someone to fear me. Remember the whole point of this was to free you and Dorian, I am no tyrant to be feared. Why don’t you work and I’ll get breakfast again after I pick up the reports.” He blinked as he felt tears trying to fall. “Damn me and my moods.”

“Your moods?” Zevran blinked at him then a half-smirk played on his lips. “I know how to -” He checked himself, and then suddenly looked nauseated. “What is wrong with me?” he whispered. “Forgive me. No wonder you struck me.” He pulled away from Fenris and ran a finger along his lip and then glanced away. “You should have let me return to the Rookery,” he murmured softly. “I... should go.”

“No, that place is evil and you will be worse off if you return. It’s locked against you anyway,” Fenris said tiredly before he turned and crouched down to begin to pick up reports. “Let’s just start over, I’ll pour us coffee and we should work as normal. I’ll contain myself and not be an ass.” 

Zevran regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded once.

He helped Fenris pick up the reports, sorted them back into their original piles meticulously, then retook his cross-legged position in their midst without disturbing a single page.

They worked straight through until lunch; Zevran was quiet and serious, focused entirely on his work with no further attempts at teasing or goading - in fact speaking only as much as needed. When Fenris rose to take the lunch tray, Zevran was reaching for the next report and working through it, ignoring the interruption as he dashed off corrections and notes, picking up one of the other reports to scan it then cross reference the information before making further notes. He ignored the food, focused instead on his work.

Fenris was quiet and subdued as well, even more so as he ate and returned to working. He still felt terrible about how he’d snapped at Zevran and struck him; but he didn’t know how to make it right. It didn’t help that Dorian was still angry with him and nothing he did seemed to help. 

As they worked, Fenris was reminded more now of how his own Zevran was when working - his focus on his work which was as meticulous, methodical and comprehensive as he remembered from his own work, the Antivan picking out small seemingly-throwaway lines that Fenris himself wouldn’t have noticed, suggesting courses of action in a quiet, thoughtful tone even as he were reaching for the next report.

Fenris set aside a report about slavers with a scowl; he’d been making his own pile of reports about slaver activity for his own reasons but he didn’t note them except to keep an eye on them so he could act later. Zevran’s sharp eyes noticed the separate pile, and shortly he began adding other reports to the pile, sliding some before Fenris and placing others on the pile directly himself, all without a word.

After another hour of silence, Fenris finally broke. “I’m sorry for hitting you. I guess it's another thing for Dorian to hate me for,” he said before getting up and stretching. “I need a break, I’ll be in my room for a while; I need to...think and be alone,” the elven mage said with a sad look at Zevran before heading for the stairs. 

The Antivan looked up from the report in his hand, an absent look in his eyes that focused back on Fenris; he straightened slightly and laid the report down. His expression was still serious and thoughtful, and Fenris was struck again by how much more he resembled his own Zevran.

“Do you wish me to leave, ser?” Zevran asked quietly. Gracefully he extricated himself from the piles of paperwork without disturbing their careful distribution across the surface of the desk, and leapt nimbly down. 

“Do not call me ser,” Fenris managed through clenched teeth. “For the last time, I do not seek your submission, or this meek shell of a man.” 

Zevran stared at him, his face devoid of expression. “Then what would you have of me?” he asked softly. “You do not want my submission. Yet you do not like my habitual demeanor. What then is left of me? Perhaps you prefer I cease to exist, hmm?” He held Fenris’ gaze for a moment then lowered his eyes. “It seems there is a change between us. You changed us - Dorian and I. Are you then, displeased with what you have made of us? You are cold towards me now. And so I do not understand what it is you want from me, Fenris. Were you Leto, I would know where I stand. You have spared my life, but to what end?”

The elven warrior approached and dropped to his knees before taking Zevran’s hands in his. He felt so ashamed of his behavior but he also knew this Zevran was not like his, he’d never been freed of the Crows or others, his own responses were like that of a newly freed slave who didn’t know what to do, how to speak like a freed man. 

“After the coup, when I left in tears and anger; Dorian had cut me to the quick though he didn’t know it. I hated every moment of that performance, to speak of you so and to threaten you as I had to. But his words were so brutal, like a knife right into my heart and he had no clue. He’s been cold to me, and this is the first I’ve seen you since the pardon; I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t want to see you yet because this has me fragile and on edge. I do want you, but Dorian’s coldness towards me made it clear I am not welcome even if I did try to return to the bed you now share. This isn’t my world and the changes I made are affecting me. I don’t fully regret it but I wish I could go home more than when I first arrived. I hate it here, I hate that two men I care for so much in my world despise me here. I’m hurting and when I hurt, I hide and I get mean and snap until I push others away. Its not your fault I’m just as broken as others here. I just...want things to settle or to find a way back so I can be with my family.” As Fenris spoke, he’d rubbed his thumbs over the other elf’s fingers; sure he’d be rebuked and shoved away. When he wasn’t he finally looked up at Zevran and gave him a sad smile.

“I want you to have what my _carissimi_ has, his freedom from a life of servitude and slavery to an ideal, to the Crows and others. I want you to find your worth, it'’s why I shouted at you about calling yourself a whore. I just want you to find some happiness, with yourself and with Dorian.” 

Zevran’s eyes were on his hands as they rested in Fenris’ gentle grasp. As Fenris spoke, Zevran’s eyes slowly lifted up to meet the other elf’s gaze finally. “Dorian... does not despise you,” he managed hoarsely. “And nor do I. But I do not understand my place now. Under Leto, I knew what was expected of me. This -” He jerked his chin towards the paperwork, “This is but a small part of what I have done. My ravens, the intelligence I gather - that is another part. But it seems I will not be permitted to secure my people’s loyalty in the manner they - and I - have become accustomed to; and outside of my duties I am still despised by many. Do you know, I have twice found my food poisoned? And even this morning, as I came to your office, a man sought to waylay me with a knife. That, at least, is familiar to me. But here? This... Fenris, I do not know where I stand with you. Outside of my duties, all is strange now and - and I find myself uncertain, where once my feet were sure of my way.” He lowered his eyes to Fenris’ hands. “You have changed me,” he whispered. “And I no longer know fully who or what I am.” 

“You’re like a newly freed slave, its confusing and terrifying,” Fenris said as he dropped his gaze to their hands. “I find it hard to believe that Dorian does not despise me as cold as he’s turned after your pardon. It...hurts more than I anticipated.” 

“Then perhaps you should have tried talking to me,” remarked Dorian as he let himself into the room, pulling the door closed after him. “Really, Inquisitor, I must teach you better how to cast a silence, hmm? I’ve been able to listen for the past five minutes.” He clicked his fingers and Fenris felt the spell take hold. “Now. It seems you have something to say, hmm?” He glanced to Zevran. “ _Amatus_ , perhaps you should sit down?” His tone had softened slightly.

Zevran shook his head and glanced over to the window. “I think... I need air,” he murmured. His hands were limp in Fenris’ grasp now.

The Inquisitor was mortified, and felt a blush creep up his neck and face as he sat there with his head bowed. He took one look at Dorian then bolted up to his room and slammed the door. He barely ran but it was the last straw. 

Below him he could hear nothing at first, then a low voice asking something he couldn’t make out. Then a moment later, from his open bedroom window he could hear voices, and he realised Zevran must have retreated to the window of the office directly below, and Dorian had followed him.

“... _amatus_ , I don’t understand - what is wrong?” Dorian sounded terse and worried.

“It is nothing. There is nothing wrong. Why did you come? I told you I should be working here as I have always done through the whole morning!” Zevran’s voice was low, almost angry. 

“What did he say to you? Dumat, this is intolerable - first that performance in front of everyone, and now -”

“Dorian!” snapped Zevran. “Do not speak of that again; is it not enough that I must dream of it, but you must bring it up? He spared me, I live, we move on - it is over!”

“Over? Far from it,” growled Dorian. “If it is over, why did I find him on his knees in front of you and you looking a hair’s breadth away from keeling over?”

“Stop,” growled Zevran. “You do not understand!”

“Then help me to understand,” said Dorian, softer. “He’s hurt you, _amatus_. He may not have lifted a hand to -”

There was silence suddenly, and then a muffled sound that might have been Zevran’s voice; a faint, hoarse, “Don’t -”

“He hit you.” Dorian’s voice was filled with disbelief and anger. “The bastard struck you.”

Fenris dropped his face to his hands as he heard them arguing, and as expected… someone climbing up and banging on his door. “Come in,” he said just loud enough for Dorian to hear. 

The door opened, and Dorian stared at him before slowly folding his arms and leaning against the door frame. 

“So,” he drawled quietly. “Seems that whole charade in the hall wasn’t so much of an act after all, hmm? There’s more of Leto in you than I had expected. After the way you were with us before the coup, I honestly thought you were... different. Better. Yet here we are, and I can see that perhaps _that_ was the true charade. You struck Zevran. You’ve changed him - he no longer knows what is expected of him, and you’ve thrown him badly off kilter.” 

He stepped into the room and quietly closed the door. “After you pardoned Zevran, he got horrendously drunk, you know,” he said almost conversationally. “That whole thing did quite a number on him, mentally. And watching him go through that, I found myself wondering: how long before you tried to change me, too? How far would you go?”

He walked slowly towards Fenris. “So. Yes, I’ve distanced myself. Self protection; you’re not the first person who’s tried to change me, after all.” He came to a halt just a few feet away from Fenris. “Tell me, Fenris - what will it be next? Will I wake to find _you_ standing over me with a knife?” His voice deepened and became darker. “Dabbled in blood magic yet, have you?”

Fenris looked up in shock and revulsion. “I’m not your father, Dorian; I’d rather cut off my arm than ever try blood magic. I’m not trying to change you - I’m sorry for what I’ve done to Zevran, how I hurt him.” He wiped at his face as he stared at the magister.

“I got drunk too, but you were so angry with me for my performance you never heard me, never let me apologize. I know I changed him, he’s like a freed slave right now but I came down and found him before I could have any time to myself. He goaded me, I admit I was wrong, it was the digging the continued remarks that got to me. Being here is bad for me, can’t any of you see that? Since you were eavesdropping did you hear how sorry I am? Did you hear how much I hate being here? If not, I’m telling you now...I fucking hate it, I’m scared, I’m alone and while it seemed like a great idea at the time, I hate being Inquisitor now. I know you hate me, you’ve fallen for Zevran and any slight against him is one against you but two or three times in measure. I’m sorry alright, I’m sorry I had any compassion and fear for him dying because I love _my_ Zevran and _my_ Dorian too much to let you all keep living in fear and abuse here.

“I’ll leave, I’ll find somewhere to go, tell them I abdicated after a fight with you. I don’t belong here and I’m just making things worse. If you’re going to hit me, get on with it because you seem to be ready for it...to take it out on me since Leto isn’t here for you to rail at. Otherwise, let me be...please.” Fenris finished on a choked sob and dropped his head back to his hands, sure he was about to get screamed at or beaten. 

Dorian was staring at him blankly, his hands by his sides, slightly in shock Fenris slowly realised. The magister seemed to be hunting for words, and finally managed a hoarse whisper.

“How do you know about my father? I never told even Leto about that.” Dorian glanced aside for a moment, and then back to Fenris. “How did you know? That... Dumat.” He turned away slowly and ran a hand through his hair distractedly as he slowly began to pace. 

“You can’t just leave,” he said, glancing around at Fenris. “Do you know what would happen if you left here now? Zevran would likely be dead within a week at most. It’s only the thought that any move against him would be treated as a move against the Inquisitor that keeps most of the rabble here in line. And they’ll certainly have no love for me - I’m of Tevinter, after all, and our dealings with the Venatori are not so far behind us yet that they’ll casually forget I represent all they hate. I may never have used blood magic in my life - indeed, I’ve been the victim of it just as much as any of them have - but they won’t see it that way. If you flee, you leave us under a death sentence and the whole damned Inquisition will just rip itself apart afterwards - just you see if it won’t.”

He halted and stared at Fenris. “You bastard, you would run out on all of us after _you_ did all of this! Leto kept vengeance in line! It may have been hell, we may all have been damned to the Void but _Venhedis_ , Fenris, at least we were not there yet! _You’re_ sorry?” Dorian laughed in disbelief. “Not half as sorry as I am, believe me! To think I actually found myself feeling something for you - and then you pull all of this?” He shook his head. “You have no real idea what it is you’ve done, have you? To me, to Zevran, to this whole bloody mess? Vengeance is gone, which about the only good thing to come out of this whole sorry affair - Zevran spends half his time believing you’re Leto and that he really _was_ just spared a hanging, and the other half as though nothing has ever happened. Josie is barely on top of the mess and frantically renegotiating treaties left, right and centre to reassure our erstwhile allies that the rumours they’re hearing about the Inquisitor aren’t true, Cassandra is still a week away, and Anders -”

Dorian’s voice tailed off. “And Anders is... just a shell of the man he may once have been. Perhaps it would have been kinder to let him die.” He lowered his gaze and was silent.

Fenris’ breathing hitched at Dorian’s words as he sat there and let the other man berate him. “You’re right, I’ve no idea what I’d done but I couldn’t let you all be abused and threatened by Vengeance any more.” He hung his head as he contemplated what to do. “I did what I did because I care for my versions of you and Zevran. I know you’re sick of sorry but its all I have Pavus.” 

He took his boots off and let them fall before starting on his vambraces. “It’s clear you hate me for what I’ve done and I’ll have to live with it long as I’m here. I don’t like it, and it hurts though I doubt you care for my feelings. I know you don’t care for my feelings, after all I’m just a poor substitute and a fool right? I do have them and you’ve cut me deeper than my own Dorian, nay any of my lovers or husbands have save Invictus. I’ll leave you both alone except for when we have to put on a front for official business. The Inquisitor has always been a lonely spot to be in, so I’ll take that along with everything else I have to do to fake it. Go to Zevran, just ...let me fall apart in peace and I won’t bother you or him.” Fenris ignored him to get a drink and wash his face of tears he hadn’t been able to stop during their talk. 

“That’s the third time you’ve decided for yourself what I feel without actually asking me,” said Dorian quietly. “The third time you’ve declared I hate you. Do you think you’ll ever stop wallowing in your own self-hatred long enough to actually ask me and listen?” There was a weariness to Dorian’s tone. “I don’t hate you. I’m only... disappointed. Perhaps it would have been kinder if you had continued to let me remain ignorant of who you truly are. I think I would have hurt less if I had thought Leto had changed his mind... than to learn that you had. If I have hurt you, it is only because you have wounded me first.” Dorian turned away. 

“I shall trouble you no longer,” he said softly as he opened the door.

“Close the damn door and hear me out,” Fenris said as he stalked towards the magister and shut it for him. “What else am I supposed think about you hmm, Pavus? Your words, how you rail at me for what I’ve done, as if I haven’t apologized so many times that _I am sick_ of hearing my own voice but its not enough for you. You don’t hate me? Well it’s damned hard to teIl from where I’m standing. Never tell me you’re disappointed in me - you know who said that to me? My old master, right before he beat me so bad I couldn’t walk for two or three days. I hate hearing that, its something my Dorian knows about me, my husbands as well. If nothing else has reinforced you don’t know me, its that. Now you want to go, go. I have decisions to make.” The elf was looking over the other man, his eyes dark and his voice dropped to a low growl in his anger. He had hit his limits with Dorian and the lot of them. Though it was early, all Fenris wanted was to drink and sleep it off again or to fly away from Skyhold for a while and just clear his head. 

Dorian was unaware of his scrutiny; as Fenris had loomed over him and his voice dropped, the magister had gone still, closing his eyes. His hand had fallen away from the door, and he said nothing. As Fenris told him to go, he turned his face aside and drew a slow breath.

“Don’t hurt Zevran for my mistakes,” he whispered. 

“I’m not Leto, or have you forgotten as well?” Fenris snarled as he watched Dorian react as if he was going to kill him. “I’m telling everyone the truth tomorrow, fuck pretending to be Leto anymore. If I have to keep doing it I’ll lose my mind and be useless if I ever get home.” he backed up, crossed his arms and stared at the floor. “I’m …” he stopped himself. “You’re sick of sorry, I forgot.”

Dorian’s forehead creased slightly in a pained frown at that, before he schooled his face into calmness once more. “You struck Zevran, and by your attitude towards us both you hurt him. If you are angry at me, take it out on me. But Zevran has suffered enough.”

“Are you stupid, I am not going to hit you. I apologized and deeply regret hitting Zevran. When will you fucking remember that I’m not that abusive asshole you all know. Despite what my own _carissimi_ thought of me, I can never be him. Stop expecting me to abuse you as well. Why won’t you let me be myself when we’re not in public, stop expecting me to be like Leto, he’s...he hurt you all as much as Vengeance did.” Fenris went to the window and hopped into the seat before curling up and facing away from Dorian. “Go take care of Zevran since I can’t.” 

Dorian opened his eyes and turned his head to stare at Fenris. “Tell me the truth,” he said in a weary tone. “Do you care for Zevran? Before... that... you appeared to care for him. You were gentle with him and gave him what he needed. Do you... has that changed?”

“I do but he doesn’t want me, he wants you. Isn’t that right, since you call him _amatus_ so easily when you struggled to say the word to me?” Fenris said bitterly. “What changed is getting sent off, your coldness and hatred. Even if I dare approach either of you, why would I? Just to get rebuked and sent away again? I’ve been alone before, I’ll get used to it again.” 

“You’re wrong,” said Dorian bleakly. “He wants you. And you have no idea how hard it was for me to stop myself from calling you _amatus_. You are not Leto, and so it didn’t seem right, when you were a stranger to me - at least at first. And I already told you, I don’t hate you. The only hate here is... self-hate, perhaps. Zevran... does not hate you. And although I call him _amatus_ , he doesn’t call me anything in return but... Dorian.” 

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “If you still care for Zevran, then come to my rooms tonight. Show him.” He turned away.

“I’ll consider it, I’m feeling fragile as it is and if you’re trying to trick me...it will break me for good.” Fenris said tiredly. No matter how much this Dorian said it, he didn’t believe his claims not to hate him. He kept his gaze out the window and fell silent. 

He heard the door close softly, and then Dorian’s footsteps retreating back downstairs. And then there was silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be a bit of break in updates as Arkady is off on an adventure! It won't be long, we just won't be updating at the pace we have been. Please let us know what you think in comments!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris goes to talk with Dorian and Zevran. Someone wants Zevran dead, and a visit to Anders leaves Fenris with more questions than answers.

Fenris stayed in his quarters until nightfall, even taking dinner in his rooms rather than in the dining hall. The official word was that he was busy with catching up to all he had to do as Inquisitor so he wouldn’t be seen much. By the time he ate, it was late enough that he had to decide whether or not to visit Dorian and Zevran. Truth be told he didn’t want to go; he didn’t want to see them after the morning’s fight.

After debating for it too long in his head, he finally dressed and went down to the magister’s room and knocked hesitantly. 

After a few minutes, the door opened and Dorian glanced up at him. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” he said quietly. “Zevran has been nagging to return to the Rookery; perhaps _you_ can talk some sense into him. He’ll probably listen to you more than me right now.” He pulled the door open wider and stepped aside.

Zevran was sitting in the window once again, his expression dark as he picked at his nails with the point of a stiletto dagger, but his face cleared as he glanced up and saw Fenris standing there. “Fenris?” he asked, a faintly surprised yet please tone in his voice.

“Unfortunately,” the elf said as he leaned against the door and held himself back as if he was trying to seem shorter and less of a threat to them. He glanced at Dorian then back to the Antivan. “I came, now what?” 

Dorian turned to the drinks cabinet and began pouring them all something to drink. Zevran had twisted around so he now sat upon the windowsill, facing back into the room and Fenris. The knife now rested upon his knees, almost forgotten.

“Dorian said he had asked you, but... I did not think you would actually come,” confessed Zevran. “I... am glad I was wrong.” He dropped his gaze to the floor.

“He asked and I came, so I ask again… now what?” Fenris said quietly from where he stayed against the door.

Zevran gazed at him. “You...” He glanced to Dorian, who looked up at Fenris.

“I didn’t tell him why I’d asked you here, merely that I hoped you would come,” explained Dorian. 

“Just get it out of your system now to yell at me, so I can go be alone,” Fenris said sadly. 

Zevran belatedly recalled the blade upon his knees and rose to his feet as he slid it into the sheath at his hip before taking a few steps towards Fenris then halting. “Why would I yell at you?” he asked, with a faint frown of incomprehension.

“I’ve hurt you, I’m no better than Leto. So go on, and get it done,” Fenris said as he curled in on himself even further.

Zevran approached Fenris slowly until he was almost close enough to touch, looking up into Fenris’ eyes as the taller elf found himself glancing up in spite of himself.

“I suppose I could shout at you if you truly wish me to,” said Zevran. “But I would far rather not. I would prefer if you sit with me and share a drink, and then perhaps we may talk, yes?”

“It’s what I’m expecting, not what I want,” Fenris said as he stared at Zevran for a moment then sat on the bed a few spaces away. He sat there stiffly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Zevran took the glasses of whiskey and brandy that Dorian silently offered him, then walked over to the bed. He sat on the edge to face Fenris, a few feet between them, one foot tucked up beneath himself and the other resting upon the floor. He offered the whiskey to Fenris.

“I must apologise for how I was this morning,” he said, with a little diffident shrug. “It was not what you were expecting, I think, and I perhaps surprised you. I had only thought it best to give at least the appearance of normality, and it would have seemed strange if, having been reinstated, I did not take up my duties as I had before. I did not realise it would discompose you so.”

“No need to apologize, I shouldn’t have lost my temper and struck you. I was in the wrong,” Fenris said contritely. He kept his head down and his hands together so he wouldn’t fidget.

Zevran lowered the hand that was offering the whiskey, then turned and set his brandy down on the floor by his foot. “You were not expecting to see me sitting upon your desk, eating your apples,” he pointed out. “And I think you were also not expecting me to behave like a man who had faced the noose only a couple of days before, no?”

“I had expected to be alone, not have you invading the office before the tenth bell,” Fenris replied. “Again, regardless of that I should not have struck you. I have apologized already so I don’t know what else you want of me.” 

Zevran lowered his eyes to the counterpane on the bed. “You said that we are not friends,” he said quietly. “I do not have so many friends that I do not hurt when I lose one. Particularly when I have, for once, not whored myself for their favour but because I...” He lifted his eyes to Fenris briefly. “Because I wanted to. For - for that. Not because you are like Leto, but because you are... Fenris. But now you do not wish to look at me, much less touch me; you will not take a drink from my hand, and you cannot bear the sight of me. You wish to leave.” He lowered his eyes again. 

“Please share a drink with me. And then... I will ask nothing more of you,” he whispered.

“I can’t look at you because I am ashamed of how I acted, and I am just waiting for the trick you two wish to play upon me for what I’ve done to you both. After all, why not have your fun when I won’t try to kill you like Leto does, eh?” Fenris took the drink and sipped it slowly, his thoughts on home, how he missed Invictus, Anders and his Zevran. How he wished to hug his children and go home to Nevarra. 

Zevran flinched slightly at the mention of Leto, then bent down for his brandy to hide the involuntary twitch. He took a hasty mouthful, his eyes downcast. After a moment, he glanced not quite at Fenris. “You think I am as cruel as he, eh? That without the threat of being punished as he would me, I would revel in being as bad as he is?” 

“That’s not what I said, just forget it and tell me what you want,” Fenris said tiredly. 

Zevran set aside his brandy once more then turned fully to face Fenris. “I want you to look at me,” he said softly. “I want us to be friends. You opened my eyes to what Leto has done to me. You have changed me. Do not turn away from me now... please?” He held his hand out hesitantly towards Fenris.

He turned and looked at Zevran’s hand suspiciously for a drawn out moment before hesitantly reaching out and let his fingers brush against the other elf’s. “I turned away because I felt a third wheel the night of the coup, and Dorian’s coldness reinforced feeling unwanted,” he whispered.

Zevran glanced to Dorian, then back to Fenris. “You mean... when I almost fell from the window?” he said slowly. “But... it was you who left us - you....” He glanced over at the window, then back to Fenris. “I did not want you to go!”

“Dorian told me shut the door on my way out, that was pretty clear,” Fenris replied with some anger finally.

Dorian stirred from his chair where he’d been slowly sipping a glass of red Nevarran wine. “You’re right, I did,” he nodded. “And I regret my brief moment of selfishness in which I wished only to have Zevran to myself. It was wrong of me, and I apologise to you both. It is why I asked you here, Fenris. And if you wish me to leave, I will do so, and you may be alone together.”

“It’s clear you two want to be with each other, why should I get to stay? Don’t apologize when you don’t mean it.” Fenris snapped. He wanted to just go, and couldn’t understand why they were toying with him. “What do you both want? Tell me, and stop toying with my feelings.” 

“I believe it’s clear what Zevran wants,” said Dorian quietly, with a glance to the Antivan. “He loves you. Look at him - look into his eyes, Fenris, and see what’s been staring you in the face the whole time. Why do you think he put himself in danger with Vengeance? It certainly wasn’t for my sake - or even for his own! He was helping to maintain that whole charade of you being Leto. Everything he’s done since you arrived has been to further that aim and keep Vengeance off your back and mine, so I could work on finding a way to get you home - and so you could be kept as safe as possible. Look at him!”

Zevran was staring at Dorian in stunned surprise; he slowly turned his head to look back at Fenris, as though afraid the other elf would bolt from the room.

“Maybe I was jealous too,” said Dorian softly. “After all, Leto and I had been dancing around each other for well over a year now, but it was clear within a short space of time that Zevran was off limits to everyone - because he belonged to Leto. Yet you had not been here a full twenty-four hours before Zevran had vowed to do all he could to assist you - and without demanding anything in turn - which, I might tell you, is unlike Zevran. That was when I first began to wonder. But of course, this is Zevran Arainai, the Crow Master, who has no heart - why would he offer aid unless he had some ulterior motive?”

Zevran glanced back at Dorian again. “What are you saying?” he whispered. 

“Merely that I should have seen it long before I actually did,” said Dorian sadly. “Fenris changed both of us. I realised how I had come to feel about you. But you do not feel the same, do you?”

Zevran looked stricken. “I do care for you, Dorian, I -”

Dorian leaned forward. “You see, Fenris,” he went on, as though Zevran had never spoken. “It wasn’t my name that Zevran cried out last night. It wasn’t even Leto’s. It was yours.”

“He doesn’t love me, he loves the idea of what I can be. I can’t stay here, you both know this. I have a husband, three of them waiting for me. I can’t ...can’t be a non-abusive version of the one you actually love.” Fenris set his drink down to pace. “No... this isn’t funny, why would you tell me this?” 

Zevran watched him pace, then flung himself down upon the bed with a low groan. 

Dorian regarded him sympathetically before watching Fenris pace, sitting back with his wine. “No, it’s not funny,” he agreed. “But you’re wrong. He knows you aren’t Leto. And he knows you won’t be here forever. But that doesn’t change how he feels - or how your words now are hurting him. Why are you being so obtuse? You’re a smart man, Fenris. Use that brain of yours - and your eyes, too. _Look_ at him!”

“It's not like you care about my feelings, and you aren’t helping,” Fenris snarled before approaching the bed and sitting. 

“What is it you want then? A threesome? I thought you were happy with Dorian, and didn’t want me. What will you do when I go home or when he comes back? I’m not trying to hurt you, I want to know before I do something foolish because I feel so alone.” He let his fingers trail over the elf’s back and through the other elf’s hair. Zevran moaned, a low, unhappy sound.

“I think perhaps I should leave you both to it,” said Dorian heavily as he rose. He downed the rest of his wine then reached for his staff before heading towards the door.

“Don’t you dare leave us like this, you invited me without telling me what you wanted, so sit down,” Fenris said before he nudged Zevran to roll over and look at him. “You wanted me to see you, so I’m looking.”

Dorian halted and looked back at Zevran, who didn’t move for several long minutes. Fenris was on the verge of nudging him again when the Antivan slowly rolled onto his side and peered up at him through his dishevelled hair. His eyes seemed reddened, though they were dry - at least, from what Fenris could see.

“Don’t cry, I’m not worth it,” Fenris said softly before he stretched out next to Zevran and pulled him into his arms. “I do want you, I want you very much. But...like I said, I didn’t think I was allowed since you’d taken up with Dorian. The way he’s spoken to me cut deep, though he couldn’t have known it.” He sighed and leaned in to whisper. “I’m sorry, I just thought it was easier if I could believe you both hated me. I still don’t believe Dorian doesn’t for what I’ve done here. Just be gentle with me, both of you if I’m allowed to stay.” 

Zevran had closed his eyes and allowed Fenris to pull him close; at Fenris’ words, his lips quirked in a sad smile.

“I thought you had used me,” he whispered softly. “And for once in my life, in spite of the words I said before I nearly fell from the window, it... hurt to think of myself in that way. And I... after what happened... the hall, the... Fenris, I wished I _had_ fallen, because I do not think it could have hurt more than when I looked up at you and felt you had the power of life or death over me... and that was the price for what I had done. You pardoned me and then could not bear to look at me afterwards, and I felt... used. Dirty.” He tried to turn his face away.

“Why can’t you hear me? I said I cannot look on you for my own shame, dammit.” Fenris sounded exasperated as he kept Zevran’s gaze on him. “I care for both of you, I didn’t use you - Maker damn me, I didn’t. That night broke my heart because I knew what you were doing to avoid a beating. I enjoyed the night before we took over, I didn’t fake it, I didn’t use you. For the last time, I avoided you because I thought I had burned a bridge after my performance, after the way Dorian hurt me with words. I’m here now, just...let me stay and not be so lonely.” 

Zevran had gone rigid as Fenris held him so he was forced to stare into Fenris’ eyes; he held still, and suddenly Fenris realised the Antivan had stopped breathing. Then slowly, he relaxed in Fenris’ arms as he finally drew a breath. “ _Mi dispiace_ ,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. “When I had been used so often and not cared... I told myself, over and over that I did not care. It was only sex - what, after all, is only one night? I did not care, I would not care; and yet....” He opened his eyes again and gave Fenris a helpless shrug and a wistful smile. “I am a liar, no? I care. I care too much. And I think I would do it all again for the chance of even just one more night like that. Even just one hour.” He tried to glance away but Fenris’ hand held him still; he laughed, a little hopelessly. “Even one kiss,” he confessed. “I am a whore in truth, no? I would give you anything you ask and yet all I ask is one kiss and a word of kindness from your lips, Fenris. Tell me. What price must I pay for such fleeting happiness? Tell me, so I can pay it and then afterwards, I would die a happy man.”

“You’re not a whore,” Fenris said quietly before leaning up to kiss the other elf slow and easy. He drew back and looked at Dorian before offering a hand. “Join us?” 

Dorian hadn’t moved from his place by the door; slowly he set his staff back in its place and moved slowly back towards the bed.

“Is this truly what you wish, Fenris?” he asked quietly. “I spoke the truth; if you wish, then I will leave you both in peace and find somewhere else to sleep.”

Zevran had closed his eyes at the touch of Fenris’ lips, but at Dorian’s words, he opened them to gaze at the mage. Then he glanced to Fenris.

“If you leave, I won’t stay. I wouldn’t feel right,” Fenris said quietly with a gesture of his hand. “I’m really fragile and lonely, I would like it if you both were with me so I can feel ...whole for a while. I’d like to sleep here and … stay, if you’ll have me,” he admitted. 

Dorian turned away and walked slowly across the room towards his desk. He reached for the buckles at his shoulder and slowly began to undo them in silence, before moving to each of the others in turn that held his tunic closed. Without a word, he steadily undressed until all he wore were his pants. Barefoot, he walked back to the bed and stared down at them both.

“Zevran. Will you consent to share the bed with both of us?” he asked quietly.

“ _Si_ ,” Zevran replied quietly, then glanced to Fenris. “May I undress you?” he whispered.

“Just be gentle with me again?” Fenris asked before he let his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes. 

He felt the bed dip slightly as Zevran sat up then shifted to sit straddling Fenris’ hips, brushing his cock slightly through his pants before Zevran settled himself. Then he leaned over Fenris, and the white-haired elf felt the Antivan’s hair brush his face. He smelled something that reminded him of almonds; Zevran must have washed his hair previously that day, he realised. Then he felt the assassin’s nimble fingers loosening the ties of his tunic before starting to unbuckle his armour.

He remembered Dorian mentioning that Zevran likely knew how Leto’s armour was put on and taken off, and it was evident that Zevran knew what he was doing as he unbuckled straps and gradually undressed Fenris, piece by piece. Once Fenris’ torso and arms were bare, Zevran moved down to kneel between Fenris’ legs. He paused to strip off his own shirt, throwing it aside carelessly before he bent to unlace Fenris’ boots.

Dorian sat on the edge of the bed and sipped at the glass of wine he’d just poured himself as he’d watched Zevran remove the taller elf’s armour.

“Are you just going to watch?” Fenris asked as he noticed Dorian remaining off to the side. He felt his boots tugged off and his pants unlaced as he watched the magister closely. 

Zevran was crouched over Fenris’ groin, and as Dorian smirked slightly and gestured, Fenris looked down to see Zevran had been unlacing his pants with his teeth. The Antivan looked up, the leather still held in his mouth, and held still as he gazed at them both, his back bowed as he crouched there.

“Such a pretty picture,” murmured Dorian. “Let him finish, and then we can finish undressing him, hmm?”

Fenris lifted his hips to help Zevran out, his gaze now on the blond elf as he watched him work his pants off. He jumped slightly at how cool the other elf’s hands were on him but he soon settled in. “How do you want me, on my back, my knees for both of you?” he asked quietly.

“I want you to lie on your back, so Zevran can see your eyes,” said Dorian. “And I will take Zevran as he takes you. How does that strike your fancy?” He finished his wine as he rose and moved around to the foot of the bed, leaning forward a little to grab a handful of Zevran’s hair and tug it a little. Zevran closed his eyes and smiled, but Dorian’s eyes were on Fenris as he tugged a little harder to elicit a soft hiss from Zevran.

“As you wish, Dorian,” the elf said quietly before turning his attention back to Zevran. “You’ve got me where you want me, at your beck and call.” Fenris took one of the Antivan’s hands and kissed his palm, then his fingers gently, almost reverently. 

Dorian knelt on the bed behind Zevran and took hold of the blond elf’s other wrist then almost gently twisted it up behind Zevran’s back, increasing the pressure until Zevran gasped before he pressed himself against Zevran’s back and slipped his other hand around Zevran’s throat.

“Now, where were we...? Oh yes. Zevran’s rather overdressed still. I don’t think he’s going anywhere for a while though,” Dorian chuckled. “Why don’t you help him out of his pants, Fenris?”

Fenris scowled at him briefly before reaching up to loosen the ties to the other elf’s pants and sliding them down until he got help from Dorian to get them off. He let his hands rest on Zevran’s thighs and leaned in to kiss his neck while staring at Dorian. 

Dorian smiled as he tugged Zevran to lie down; the Antivan complied, even as Dorian took both his hands then pinned his wrists above his head.

“Now we both have him at our mercy,” said Dorian quietly. “So. Fenris, what do you want to do next? Zevran is going nowhere. Would you like to use his mouth for a while before we have him take you? I promise he will be perfectly gentle with you. And I promise _him_ that I will take care of that other side of him... and I will let neither of you be hurt, hmm?”

Zevran kept his eyes on Fenris, as though almost oblivious to the way Dorian was pinning him. “Do you want me in your mouth Zev? Or do you want me to use my mouth on you?” Fenris asked as he continued to press soft kisses to the elf’s neck and cheek. Zevran whimpered and turned his head to chase Fenris’ mouth, straining to kiss him.

Dorian let a little brief yet sharp flash of electricity ground through Zevran’s wrists and the Antivan cried out with a brief jerk. “Answer Fenris, Zevran,” said Dorian chidingly. “What have you been dreaming of?”

“I want to taste your cock,” pleaded Zevran. 

Fenris growled at the use of electricity without Zevran being asked. “Don’t ...just let him answer,” he said before he crawled up the bed so he was in reach of the other elf’s mouth. “There you go, do as you want with me,” he said. 

“My apologies,” said Dorian quietly. “I’m being quite remiss, aren’t I? Zevran, I would like to use magic upon you. How far am I permitted to go?”

“You may use magic upon me, Dorian,” said Zevran as he gazed up at Fenris and briefly licked his lips. “But ask Fenris before you use it upon me again. I... give my consent through him.” Then he leaned forward and took Fenris’ cock into his mouth as far as he was able, with his wrists pinned down by Dorian.

Fenris bit his lip as he felt Zevran sucking him, doing all the things his own husband would do to him. “Zev...it’s...more, please,” he begged as he moved closer and let the elf do as he pleased. 

Dorian moved Zevran’s wrists and helped the blond elf into more of a reclining position so that he could take Fenris’ cock fully. He twisted the Antivan’s hands behind his back then held them there with one hand whilst with the other he began untying his sash belt.

“He does have such a wonderfully talented mouth, doesn’t he?” murmured Dorian. “Why don’t you lie back, Fenris, and then we can have him take you in right up to the hilt, hmm?”

Fenris stared at him as if he couldn’t figure him out before lying down and stretching his arms up so he could let Zevran play. He kept watching Dorian carefully, unsure if he felt alright with his decision to let the magister stay; especially since he hadn’t touched him once. 

Dorian gently helped Zevran to sit up, then pushed him forward; Zevran willingly bent over Fenris and swallowed down his cock almost to the hilt in one smooth move. Fenris felt the head of his cock brush the back of Zevran’s throat just a moment before the Antivan deliberately swallowed, his lips stretched around Fenris’ girth and the ripples of his throat doing wonderful things that went straight to Fenris’ groin. Behind him, Dorian was busy binding the Antivan’s wrists behind his back with the sash from his belt. Then as Zevran continued to work at Fenris’ flesh with lips, tongue and throat, Dorian moved back and gave Zevran a hard slap on the arse as he shifted back off the bed and moved around to the bedside table to retrieve a vial of oil. As he returned to the foot of the bed, he stared at Fenris over Zevran’s bowed back and raised an eyebrow as he started unlacing his pants.

“Something the matter, Fenris?” he asked. 

“You haven’t touched me at all, you’re being dominant and you used magic without asking. I’m starting to second guess wanting you here,” Fenris said before he felt Zevran’s throat working him again and he slapped the headboard instead of yanking the elf’s hair like he wanted. “Fffff...fuck,” he gasped as the Antivan bobbed his head faster, distracting him from what he was saying. 

Dorian slipped his pants off and folded them neatly, laying them aside before he moved to kneel on the bed again behind Zevran. “You’re absolutely right, I haven’t,” said Dorian. “You think I hate you. Why would you want me to touch you if you think I hate you? I’m not going to touch you unless and until you actually want me to. And yes, I’m being dominant; I seem to recall from the last time that you rather prefer having someone take charge when you ask to be treated gently - and Zevran prefers to be handled roughly from time to time. If we do things this way, you _both_ get what you want. And I used magic without asking because Zevran is almost as fond of electricity as he is of playing with knives - and seeing as I refuse to play with knives in bed, this is the next best way to indulge him. But as he has given his consent on the matter to you, I shan’t use magic on him again unless and until you say so.”

Zevran moaned enthusiastic agreement around the mouthful of cock that was now brushing into the back of his throat every time he swallowed down. Dorian slapped him hard on the back of his thigh and Zevran’s eyes fluttered shut as he moaned again, the sound drawn out.

Fenris sighed and dropped his head back for a moment as he gathered his words. He finally rested his hand on Zevran’s head and stared at Dorian. “I’m not in the mood for submitting and I’d rather you actually participated. If I didn’t want you to touch me, I wouldn’t have agreed to have you here.” 

He glanced down at the elf. “I won’t take agency from you Zev. Tell Dorian what you want, and I’ll try to get back into the mood, ok?” Fenris laid back and carded his fingers through Zevran’s hair to encourage him to resume. Zevran had actually given a small whine of protest as Fenris’ hand on his head had held him with his mouth barely an inch from the head of Fenris’ cock, and he licked his lips before he lifted his eyes to Fenris.

“Fenris... I gave my consent to you because I trust you,” he said as he straightened a little. He stared down at Fenris. “I trust you in a way that I could never trust Leto. I wouldn’t have surrendered it like that to him - but you... Fenris, I know that no matter how far I might wish to go, you will not allow me to be hurt. Do you understand how freeing it is for me to be able to surrender it to you? I feel safe with you in a way I never have with Leto. Him, I often thought he would be the death of me. But here with you I know I will not come to harm.” 

He bent over Fenris’ groin and swallowed him down until Fenris felt the Antivan’s nose press against his abdomen - and his cock slide into the other elf’s throat that final inch.

“Zev...Zevran... Mythal… fuck!” he moaned before he tightened his fingers in the other elf’s hair. “Elec...electricity… both of us,” Fenris whined.

Dorian pressed his hand flat against the small of Zevran’s back and let fly a burst of electricity that surged through the Antivan’s body before he could move, and through him straight down Fenris’ cock, lighting up his brands in a brilliant flash of light even as Zevran choked and spasmed, arching his back.

“Ahhhh, owww. Oww,” Fenris hissed as he felt Zevran bite his cock. “Bad idea... Bad idea!”

Dorian reached around Zevran’s torso and pulled him up and away from Fenris’ groin; the Antivan sagged in his arms and gagged briefly then coughed before drawing a ragged breath, then lifted his head to gaze a little dazedly at Fenris.

“Ah... _mi... mi dispiace_ ,” he managed.

“Easy, there, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian gently as he held the elf gently and brushed blond hair out of his face. “Fenris, are you alright? That was... probably not a good idea.” 

“Ow...oh fuck,” Fenris groaned while he curled into a ball. “Stupid... That was stupid,” he hissed as he tried to stay tucked away from them. 

Dorian was picking at the knots around Zevran’s wrists with his nails, trying to loosen the sash. “Just hang on a minute, Fenris - I have healing potions here - damn it, the knots have tightened -”

“Leave the rope,” said Zevran. “I am fine - see to Fenris, please? I can wait, truly.”

He’d fallen silent, focusing on his breathing and trying to figure out what hurt more, the tenseness of him curling so quickly or where Zevran had actually bit him. “Healing...potion please,” Fenris asked. 

Dorian helped Zevran to lie down on his side where the blond elf could still see what was going on, then fetched a couple of healing potions and hurried around to crouch down beside the bed and uncork one. “Here you are Fenris - hopefully it should kick in fast,” he said, darting a look back at Zevran to check the Antivan was resting comfortably.

“Thanks, that was stupid of me.” Fenris sat up slowly and took the potion with a grimace.He leaned against the headboard and sighed. “Sorry I killed the mood.”

Dorian had moved back around the bed to start picking at the knots in the sash again. “These things happen,” he shrugged. “I couldn’t quite see clearly what was going on around your, ah, groin; I think you just had Zevran in the wrong position for that. For him _and_ you.” He frowned as he tried to ease the knots apart. “Damn it, the knots must have tightened as you thrashed there; I’m going to have to cut the sash, Zevran.”

“Help yourself to any of my knives,” shrugged the Antivan. He was staring up at Fenris from where he lay on his side; there was a smear of Fenris’ precum upon his cheek, and a couple of spots of blood on his chin that he seemed unaware of.

Fenris extended his claws and offered a hand to Dorian. “I know you don’t like knives in bed, my claws are pretty sharp.” 

Zevran rolled over to present his wrists to Fenris. “Please do,” he said as he tried to toss his hair out of his face.

“Just a minute, Zevran, let -” Dorian broke off as he brushed the hair away from Zevran’s eyes and mouth to stare at his chin. “Fenris, Zevran didn’t draw blood when he bit you, did he?” asked Dorian in a concerned voice.

“Maybe? I was a little busy trying not to scream,” Fenris said with a glance down. “Damn, he did.”

Dorian reached down and gently wiped away the traces of blood as the Antivan looked contrite.

“I think it was unintentional,” said Dorian. “How are those knots coming along? Shred the sash if you have to; Zevran’s circulation is rather more important to me than a few bits of silk.”

Fenris held Zevran still as he ripped the sash down the middle and freed the other elf, but he noticed more blood on his hands afterward. “I know I didn’t cut my hands, where did this come from?” he asked before glancing to the blond. “Zevran… your face.”

Zevran sat up and glanced around. “What of it?” he asked, then frowned as he felt something wet running down over his lip. He lifted a hand to touch the wetness then blinked at the droplets of blood. “Oh, I must have given myself a nosebleed as I thrashed - it is no matter; it will stop soon,” he smiled, then pinched his nostrils closed as he rose to look for a cloth to wipe himself with.

“Let’s be a little more cautious with the lightning spells for now, hmm?” said Dorian as he arched an eyebrow.

“Come here, let me heal you.” Fenris rested a hand over the other elf’s face, and let his senses sink into Zevran. After a while he frowned and pulled his hand back. “Something is wrong, but I can’t pinpoint what it is. Have you checked everything for poison or sabotage?” he asked as he tried to figure out what was off about the elf. 

Zevran shrugged. “I feel fine,” he replied. “A little tired, but then it has been a long day and I did not sleep well last night. I have been as careful as I always am, believe me.”

“Alright, maybe I’m mistaken.” Fenris laid back and threw an arm over his face. “Do either of you even want to continue or sleep and pick up in the morning?”

“I was enjoying myself - at least until I could not breathe,” shrugged Zevran. “I am sorry that it became not so fun for you, eh? I would like to be more tired before I try to sleep, but I will understand if you prefer to rest and then we revisit this in the morning - if you do still wish to sleep here?” A faint frown creased his brow as he asked, wary that perhaps the other elf might have changed his mind about that part.

“I haven’t changed my mind about sleeping here,” Fenris said as he laid there. “Dorian, are you interested in sex or sleep? I could get back in the mood and this time I won’t be so stupid as to ask for lightning when someone is sucking my cock.” 

Dorian sat down on the bed and looked between them both. “Only if you both wish us to. I must admit the last time between the three of us was very enjoyable, though all the circumstances around it were somewhat fraught - and I shan’t deny, Fenris, that I rather enjoyed sharing my bed with you. If you still wish me to be a more... _active_ participant... then I am willing to start over again.” He ran a hand through his hair with a rueful look. “In, perhaps, every sense.”

“I believe I was worshipping your magnificent cock with my tongue before that most unfortunate curtailing of our enjoyment,” said Zevran as he stretched out upon his stomach and rested his chin on his hands. “I would quite like to resume that, unless you had something else in mind?” He glanced at Dorian. “The hair pulling was also very nice.” He gave Dorian a wink then grinned.

“If you want to resume sucking, I won’t say no… though...I wouldn’t object to you both taking me or riding me if you like,” Fenris said coyly. 

Zevran eyed Fenris’ cock, then glanced back at Dorian before slowly straightening with a thoughtful look.

“Zevran... I _know_ that look,” said Dorian warningly.

“I could, you know,” replied Zevran with a grin back at him.

“Zevran! Dumat take it - no! I know what you’re thinking, and we’d split you in two!” declared Dorian.

Zevran waved him off. “Ah, pay him no mind; Dorian fusses like an old woman,” he said dismissively.

“I meant you two taking me at the same time but let’s see what happens,” Fenris said as he rose up on his elbows and stared at them. “Where do you want me?”

“Zevran, why don’t you go back to sucking Fenris’ cock, hmm?” suggested Dorian. “I shan’t tie you up this time but maybe Fenris will pull your hair for you if you’re a good boy.” He swatted Zevran on the backside; Zevran gasped then buried his face in the bedcovers and gave a long, low groan.

“You heard him, resume sucking my cock while he gets you open...and maybe you can fuck me while you’re at it,” Fenris groaned as he felt Zevran’s mouth on him again, and whined as the Antivan carefully scraped his teeth along his shaft before taking him fully to the base and sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks each time he went down to the root.

“So... good, please… more… please,” Fenris begged.

“You know, the harder you pull his hair, the harder he sucks and the deeper he takes you,” remarked Dorian as he coated his hand with oil before he patted Zevran’s reddening arse. “Up you come, _amatus_.” Obediently, Zevran rose up onto his knees, never stopping the movement of his head even as he spread his legs, though he shuddered a little as Dorian slowly pressed a finger into him.

Fenris grabbed a handful of blond hair and yanked with each slow drag over his cock. Soon his eyes were closed and he was bucking into the other elf’s mouth slow but hard, and moaning for him to make him come or to fuck him. Zevran was choking slightly on each thrust, his breath cut off each time the thick head of Fenris’ cock plunged into his throat, even as he writhed under Dorian’s touch, pressing back onto the three fingers the Tevinter magister was now easing into his body with steady thrusts. Each time Dorian twisted his wrist and brushed his sensitive spot, Zevran was shuddering, his arms trembling as he held himself up, eyes closed and mouth stretched wide as he gagged on Fenris’ cock. He was barely moving his head now, merely holding himself as still as he could with Fenris fucking his mouth at one end and Dorian fucking him with his fingers at the other, and he so steadily coming closer to climax with each twist of Dorian’s fingers. It wasn’t clear who was likely to come first - Fenris, or Zevran.

Fenris’ voice was nothing but ragged panting and whining of Zevran’s name as he fucked his mouth. “So close… close…” he whimpered as he tightened his hold on the blond’s head. “Please… Zev… Zev…” 

“He’s nearly open enough for you Fenris,” said Dorian. “And I know you’ll still be hard after you’ve come. Give him a taste, and then I’ll help him ride you. If you still have anything left after that, feel free to take me as well, or - well. Let’s see how it goes, shall we? I think he’s deserved a taste though.”

The faint noise that managed to escape Zevran between Fenris’ thrusts might have been fervent agreement to the first suggestion, the second, or both, or merely a plaintive plea to come himself as his cock dripped, hard and neglected, between his thighs. His arms were trembling as he writhed; tears were rolling down his cheeks unheeded from pure effort to hold back his own impending climax.

Though he didn’t need permission, Fenris stopped holding back on coming as he pulled Zevran’s face back so he didn’t drown him like he’d nearly done to his own husband back home. He couldn’t help himself as he stroked Zevran’s face, telling him how good he was, how much he loved him before he felt himself shaking just a bit from the intensity. “I’ll take care of you Zev, come here,” he whispered. 

Zevran had lifted his head, his eyes opening as he worked to swallow Fenris’ spend, heedless of it dripping from his chin. There was a sharp crack as Dorian’s hand slapped hard into his buttock, and Zevran twitched. His eyes as he gazed at Fenris were blown wide, dark circles ringed with gold as Dorian slapped him again, and the groan that escaped him was atavistic and involuntary, the elf slipping under.

Then Dorian had slipped his hands beneath Zevran’s armpits and was bodily lifting the elf up and forward so Fenris could guide his cock to Zevran’s entrance before Dorian lowered him down. Fenris found himself sheathed to the hilt inside Zevran’s body, and the Antivan cried out softly.

Then Dorian’s arm was around his chest to support him as Fenris started to move, and Zevran was staring down at him, his breaths coming faster as every thrust from Fenris hit his sweet spot, cresting him closer and closer to climax even as Dorian reached around with his other hand to start pumping Zevran’s cock.

Fenris returned the other elf’s gaze as he seemed to drift as he was taken and held up. He sat up so he could kiss Zevran, and taste himself as he slowed his thrusts while he enjoyed the drawn out kiss. He couldn’t stay like that much as he’d wanted and laid back so he could help the smaller elf climax. “Let go… _carissimi_ ,” he ordered. 

Dorian leaned forward and sank his teeth into the point at the base of Zevran’s neck, just by his collarbone - not hard enough to break the skin, but it was enough. Zevran gave a loud cry as his head fell back and he came hard over Dorian’s hand and Fenris’ chest.

Fenris reached up and pulled at Zevran so he could hold him and kiss him for a moment so he could enjoy that quiet moment as the other elf came down from his orgasm. “Can I put you on your back?” he asked quietly. 

Zevran was panting, his eyes glazed, but after a few minutes he managed to nod.

“Give him a moment to catch his breath,” said Dorian softly as he rose, wiping his hand on a small towel as he made his way to the side table and took up a couple of glasses. Casting swiftly, he filled two with iced water, then handed one to Fenris. “Let’s sit him up a moment and give him water.” 

“Soon as my back relaxes I’ll do the same,” Fenris said tiredly as he watched Dorian get the other elf to his arms and got him to drink. After a few moments, the Tevinter elf got up and drained his glass in one go. 

“If he’s tired, we can sleep but you haven’t...you know …” Fenris waved a hand at Dorian and let it drop lazily. Dorian laid Zevran back against the pillows; the Antivan was drifting still, his eyes glazed, not fully back with them yet.

“I know,” said Dorian quietly. “But I know that in a little while you’ll probably be ready to go again. So, the choice is yours. Leto never let me take him, so I would not dream to presume you would consent to me doing so, but I am not adverse to being taken - or I can ride you. Which would you prefer?”

“I’d prefer one of you fucking me senseless so I can sleep without dreaming tonight,” Fenris admitted. “This week and a half has been a lot and I just… I want quiet like you did that first night I was here.” 

“Yes,” nodded Dorian, then sighed. “It has. You - you’re sure you want me to... to do that for you? You... want _me_?”

As Fenris looked up at the magister, he saw that Dorian was tired - but not a weariness of his body; the tiredness was in his eyes, a man who had been bearing his own inner strain, his own demons, and keeping it himself whilst trying to hold the Antivan together.

A man who was uncertain as to whether Fenris truly meant it. A man who was fearing and expecting rejection.

Fenris’ eyes drifted over to the desk behind Dorian; there were far more notes, diagrams, books strewn about, half-empty vials of lyrium, a spilled dish of orichalcum, the empty flasks of stamina bottles; and Fenris realised that Dorian must have been feverishly working to try and find a way to send Fenris back to his own world. He must have worked through the night as Zevran slept.

“Fenris?” prompted Dorian softly. 

“Yes, I want… I need that from you. Like I said I am not a stranger to my Dorian’s touch,” Fenris said quietly as he he reached for the vial and put it in Dorian’s hands. “Do you remember that night, what you asked me for?”

“To quieten my mind,” Dorian nodded. “Yes, I remember. I... I need to know... are you asking because you need that and Zevran is -” He glanced to the Antivan, who was lying peacefully, glazed eyes staring at nothing. “Zevran is unable,” he said with a sad, wistful look. “Or because you want me - Dorian? Because - because if the former, I will still do it - I just...” He sighed and glanced away. “I just need someone around here to be honest with me for once as to just what they want from me,” he finished in a small voice.

Fenris caught himself before he snapped at the other man. Instead he reached over and took Dorian’s hands in his. “I’m going to say this one last time. I want you, I want him. I .…” He stared up at the ceiling for calm before finishing. “My Dorian has done this for me, and you are most like him. I care for you, I care for you both and until I can get home, I want to have some sliver of happiness. I am trusting you to give me some peace and quiet, to shag me senseless and let my mind settle then go to sleep between you two. You’re just like my Dorian, so sure no one wants him for who he is that I had this same fight with him. Please, use your magic, your hands or your mouth. Get rough with me if you like but please...know I’m not doing this out of pity. I want you both dammit!.”

Dorian swallowed hard, and in the candlelight his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Thank you for being honest with me,” he whispered, his voice catching a little. He turned and picked up a bowl of water, warming it with his magic, and he set to work to carefully clean Zevran’s face and chest where the Antivan had rested in his own spend atop Fenris. He wiped Fenris’ chest clean, then he cleaned up the rest of Zevran before setting out a pot of salve; then he turned to carefully wash Fenris’ cock. He took up a small bar of soap to clean Fenris thoroughly, then gave him one last wipe before letting his eyes meet those of Fenris as he laid the water aside.

Then he settled himself between Fenris’ thighs and smiled. “You know, I was feeling most envious of Zevran there. ‘Worship your cock’ - I have to agree; it’s most worthy of worshipping.” He gave Fenris a wink, then lowered his mouth to the head and took it in slowly, managing half the length in his first go. Then he drew back far enough to swirl his tongue around the head before plunging down again, taking in a little more.

“Dorian… please...more,” Fenris gasped as he sat back and watched the dark hair bob in his lap. “Rope… anything.” 

Dorian had managed to take all of Fenris in, and now he pulled back with a gasp, his face flushed and beaded with sweat, hair now in disarray, lips reddened and a little swollen. 

“Rope... yes, I can do that,” he managed to get out. He rose from the bed, casting a little iced water into ne of the glasses and downing it before he made his way to the nearby chest of drawers to pull out a couple of lengths of rope. “Where shall I tie you?”

Zevran had rolled his head on the pillow and was smiling at the lengths of rope in Dorian’s hands. “Is that for me?” he slurred.

“For me this time,” Fenris said as he leaned in and kissed Zevran. “Do you want to let him sleep?” 

“I would very much like to ride your beautiful cock again,” slurred Zevran as he rolled over clumsily to face Fenris.

“Be a good boy and if I can manage it, I’ll help you to sleep, Zevran, alright?” said Dorian. He glanced to Fenris. “Unless you care to do the honours, and I can take you at the same time? Your choice,” he added politely. “I can still tie your hands if you’d like.”

“Do you think he’ll be alright if I’m in the middle? Or let him ride and you can take me, just tie me first. Or you both could take me,” he said coyly. 

“Not sure Zevran would be capable of the latter,” remarked Dorian. “I could go in the middle if you like. If I tie your hands in front of you....” He pondered. “That might work better. I could tie your hands together and hold them in front of me... maybe bind them to the headboard above Zevran’s head?”

“Whatever you think works, as long as I’m taken out of my head soon. I can still help him ride if you want to fuck me Dori,” Fenris said with a leer. 

Dorian blinked. He’d never been called ‘Dori’ in his life before. The use of the diminutive brought a well of unexpected feelings to the surface; he turned his face away and reached for the oil. “Let me... let me tie you first, and then prepare myself,” he said, clearing his throat.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris asked as he watched Dorian closely. “You also didn’t tie me, easier to do before you get oil on your hands.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” murmured Dorian. “You’re right of course - one moment.” He set the oil aside and reached for the rope. “Wrists together in front of you, please.” He kept his head low, under pretense of concentrating as he bent over Fenris’ wrists to tie them together.

“You paused when I called you Dori,” Fenris noted as he held his hands still for the other man. 

“Did I?” said Dorian diffidently as he checked the knots over carefully. “I wasn’t aware of it. Not been called Dori before. Leto doesn’t use pet names, and no-one else I’ve slept with really cared much to even ask my name.” He turned to fasten the other end to the headboard, hampered a little when Zevran reached up for his cock.

“I call my Dorian that, sorry if it bothered you,” Fenris said softly before he let his head drop and tried to relax so his arms wouldn’t be strained. “If I ask you to break me, can you ?” 

Dorian paused, his hands stilling as he was in the act of tying off the rope to the headboard. “I... could do that,” he managed to say with a steady voice.

Zevran stared up at him, his eyes focusing more clearly on Dorian as his hands stilled on Dorian’s thighs. “Dorian?”

Dorian reached down to caress Zevran’s face then kissed his forehead with a sad look before he turned away to start preparing himself. “Whatever you wish, I can do for you, Fenris,” he said.

“Thank you.” Fenris whispered before lifting a leg and trailing a foot over the magister’s leg, up his arm and over until he had his ankle resting on Dorian’s shoulder. “Whatever will you do with me now?”

Dorian paused in the act of working his own fingers into himself. “An interesting question,” he observed. “We have various possibilities, and the night is yet young.”

“I’d like it if you would face me...unless you’d rather not?” Fenris said quietly as he dropped his leg and spread a little more for his bedmate...lover? Whatever this Dorian was becoming to him.

Dorian straightened, composing his face before he turned slowly to face Fenris with a smile. “Hard to take Zevran from this angle, but... if you prefer this way, I... can accommodate you,” he answered. 

“No, you’re in control I ...apologize, go on and do as you need to Dorian… _amatus_ ,” Fenris said as he tried to get comfortable. 

Dorian couldn’t restrain the quiet, choked sob that escaped his lips at the endearment. Zevran was sitting up, fully awake now as he stared at Dorian, clearly worried. He glanced up at Fenris, then back at Dorian. 

“Dorian? What is wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

“I think because I called him amatus, and Dori. Why don’t I ever keep my fool mouth shut?” Fenris said tiredly. 

Dorian had pressed a hand to his face as he brought his breathing under control. Zevran was upon his knees now, reaching for Dorian as he stared bewildered at Fenris, still a little disoriented. Gently he hugged Dorian as he gazed at Fenris.

“Just - just give me a moment,” said Dorian, his voice sounding thick and nasally. 

Fenris stretched out and turned his head to the side as he listened to them, helpless to do anything for the magister. 

Dorian rested his head on Zevran’s shoulder as he stared down at Fenris. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You... caught me by surprise. Leto has only called me _amatus_ once - when we were in the Fade at Adamant, just before that terrible fight. And - and I never had the chance to say it to him. And then - you - it just caught me, and I....” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is rather embarrassing,” he murmured.

“It’s alright, but I dare say the mood is passed?” Fenris said as he tried to get comfortable. “If we’re going to sleep, can you untie me please?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes, of course,” Dorian nodded as he reached to untie Fenris. Zevran quietly slipped from the bed to give them room, and reached for his pants. As Dorian wrestled with the rope and knots, Zevran slipped from the room, returning a few minutes later to wash his hands in the wash basin, picking up the soap Dorian had left on the bedside table. The subtle smell of almonds came to Fenris’ nose as Zevran shook his hands off then returned to the bed. 

Dorian had managed to get the ropes off and was gently rubbing Fenris’ wrists. “I’m sorry about that,” he was apologising again.

Zevran slipped his pants off then settled himself behind Dorian, wrapping his arms around the magister and resting his chin upon Dorian’s shoulder as he regarded Fenris thoughtfully.

“It’s ok.” Fenris said softly before turning to to his side to watch them. He sniffed the air and looked over both men. “I didn’t think you liked almonds Zevran, that soap reeks of it,” he said before reaching down and pulling the covers up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t… that I didn’t….” He fell silent, unsure what he was apologizing for. 

Zevran shrugged. “It is merely soap; it is what was closest to hand. I smell like an Orlesian bakery, eh?” He chuckled before he turned his face aside and coughed. “The scent is a little strong,” he muttered. As he turned back, Fenris thought he saw a fleck of something dark upon his lips, but Zevran turned his head to nuzzle Dorian’s neck, and when he looked back at Fenris there was nothing there. Perhaps he’d imagined it.

“You bite very nicely, Dorian,” the Antivan purred. “I do like to be bitten. Leto would do it often and ah... I have missed it. I would like it if you did it often.” He grinned at Fenris. “I should not ask you to bite, eh? A pity.”

“Maybe later, right now … I just want to sleep,” Fenris said before closing his eyes and burrowing under the covers so he didn’t have to think about the evening and how it didn’t go how he’d hoped. Presently he felt two bodies pressed up on either side of him, and when he drowsily looked down, Zevran was curled against him, Dorian’s arm flung over the both of them. 

They drifted to sleep together.

**

“Fenris? Fenris! Wake up, please!” Dorian’s voice was close to panicking as he gently shook Fenris’ shoulder.

“Let me sleep…” Fenris said as he batted at whoever was shoving him but he wasn’t left to roll over. Instead he felt Dorian shoving him and calling his right name. “What, what?!”

“It’s Zevran,” said Dorian tersely. “I can’t wake him and... and there’s blood.”

“ _Venhedis_ ,” Fenris said as he knelt over the elf and let his senses sink into the blond. “Silence spell, and stop calling me Fenris unless you have one up,” he said before trying to find where he was bleeding from and why the Antivan wouldn’t wake.

Zevran lay on his back near the edge of the bed, one hand trailing over the edge, face pale and waxy. Blood was running in a thin rivulet from his nose and down the side of his face; more blood was smeared across one cheek and down his chin, and as Fenris leaned over him he could see blood had pooled beneath Zevran’s head as he slept. As Fenris felt through the unconscious man’s body, he felt the blood seeping from bruised tissues into the elf’s lungs. Something was impeding his breathing, and his whole body felt sluggish. As Fenris let his senses sink deeper, he could feel it - something in his blood.

He’d been poisoned. Something slow acting, building up slowly with repeated exposure, steadily and insidiously affecting his body until it began to overwhelm it.

“He’s been poisoned...but I’m not sure by what. I hope I can find and stop it, but go get Josephine, now,” Fenris said as he pulled the elf to his back and rested his hands over Zevran’s chest to try and get rid of the poison. “Don’t die on me, dammit.”

Dorian hastily tugged on pants then flung the nearest robe about his shoulders before he fled, leaving Zevran to Fenris.

Zevran was still beneath Fenris’ hands; too still. His face was lax in unconsciousness; there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and there was a bluish tinge to his lips.

It seemed like forever before he heard footsteps hastening towards the door, and then Josephine was there, clad in a long dark blue robe, her hair unbound and tumbling in black falls down her back. Evidently Dorian had roused her from her sleep.

“What have you discovered?” she asked without preamble, settling herself beside Zevran as she reached over and thumbed up an eyelid to check the size of his pupils before lifting a limp wrist to check his pulse.

“Poison, I have no idea what kind though since that’s his area. It's in his blood and he won’t wake.” Fenris pulled back slightly to stare at the small Antivan woman. “I smelled almonds last night but I thought it was soap he’d used.” 

She sat up and gave him a sharp look. “Soap? Where is it?” She bent over Zevran and buried her face in his hair, inhaling, then drew back sharply. “I need to see that bar of soap right now.”

Dorian glanced around to the basin then picked up the small white bar Zevran had been using. Josephine took a delicate sniff, then her nose wrinkled. “I know this poison. It is an Antivan poison; it works slowly, through repeated exposure - faster if ingested, though he wouldn’t be eating soap.”

Behind her, Dorian blushed. “I... think I know how he may have come to ingest it,” he replied as he glanced at Fenris and then his gaze was drawn downwards the the elf’s cock. Dorian cleared his throat then hastily looked away. “How dangerous would you say it is after, say, one or two uses?”

“If you have only used it a little, you would be fine; it would take repeated use over a few days for it to have an effect. Fortunately we have caught it in time, before it might prove fatal. But I think it is clear - there is a Crow at work here,” replied Josephine. “Where did you get this soap?”

“I really don’t know,” replied Dorian. “I don’t remember purchasing it, but I have so many different soaps that I would not likely have noticed one more amongst them.” He looked abashed. “I should have been more observant.” 

“It was a perfect opportunity. What do we need to do to save him Josephine?” Fenris asked as he held Zevran close. 

“It is likely that Zevran himself possesses the antidote amongst his various vials and potions,” shrugged Josephine. “I do not know his system of cords and knots that he uses, but I know the antidote by sight and I would recognise the smell.”

Wordlessly, Dorian picked up Zevran’s satchel and handed it to her.

She went through the vials carefully, setting out six that were filled with a dark green liquid that looked oily in the candlelight. She went through them, cautiously sniffing each one; she held up the fourth vial. “This one. It is the correct antidote. I thought it likely Zevran would have taken the precaution of mixing an antidote; it is the most commonly used poison amongst Crows who seek to eliminate their own.”

She gestured to Fenris as he held Zevran. “Hold his mouth open; he will need half of this vial. Let us hope he is not too far gone to swallow.”

With Fenris holding the comatose Crow, Zevran’s head tilted back and his mouth prised open, Josephine steadily trickled the antidote into his mouth. As the oily liquid his the back of his throat, Zevran coughed and then gagged, his body spasming in Fenris’ arms until he swallowed convulsively. Josephine poured more in, and Zevran jerked and made a retching sound until he was able to swallow. Finally Josephine sat back and corked the vial.

Zevran was gasping faintly for breath spasmodically; slowly his breathing quietened.

“It will take a little time for the poison to wear off and the antidote to start working,” said Josephine. “Now, we must wait. I will have my people begin to make an investigation. We have an assassin in our midst. It may be one of Zevran’s enemies here in Skyhold has decided to arrange to have him eliminated - or it may be that those Crows who have evaded Zevran now seek to usurp him as Crow Master.” She frowned. “Or it may be that either you or Dorian are the targets and Zevran an innocent casualty. But I think it more likely that Zevran was the target.”

Fenris growled as he sat there and held Zevran close. “Have a guard put on this room and mine at all hours, and pull the records of who may have cleaned Dorian’s quarters in the last few days. I will remain here, and if anyone wants _Leto_ then they are out of luck.” 

“Josephine,” said Dorian quietly. “That soap could have been used by any one of us. If someone were seeking to eliminate our little leadership group, it would be a rather effective way in which to do it - after all, everyone knows that Leto frequents my rooms more often than his own, and Zevran is now considered to be our plaything. It would be a simple way of eliminating all three of us at once. It is sheer happenstance that Zevran has used it more often than we have.” He glanced to Fenris, then back to the Antivan ambassador. “It would be well to check your own quarters.”

Josephine smiled. “I cannot abide almonds,” she shrugged. If I found such a soap in my possession, I would know at once that someone were trying to poison me.”

“I see... Well I will be more careful going forward. If you could have my rooms searched and the baths in the fortress, they may have left this around for anyone,” Fenris said as he huddled against the headboard with Zevran in his arms. 

Josephine glanced over Zevran, then back to Fenris. She had politely ignored the naked state of both men, but now she took hold of the covers and carefully pulled them up to cover them both. “My people will search thoroughly, Fenris. We will find the person who has dared strike at the heart of the Inquisition.”

“Josie... what of Anders?” asked Dorian quietly.

“I shall speak with Pin and Varania,” she replied as she got back to her feet. “I shall have my reports on your desk in a few hours, Fenris.” She nodded to him, then Dorian, then departed.

Dorian slowly sat on the edge of the bed and reached a hand out to touch Zevran’s fingers.

“I knew it was too good to last,” he said quietly, and bowed his head.

“What are you talking about?” Fenris asked softly as he watched the mage. “This is someone hoping to take him out, what are you even going on about?” 

“This,” said Dorian, gesturing to the bed, Fenris and Zevran. “Us. I... I was happy, for a while. And then it all went horribly wrong. And now this.” He glanced away. “I know he didn’t love me the way I loved him... but damn it, I don’t want to lose him.”

“He’s not going to die, Josephine found the antidote and he’ll wake up soon. Stop looking for the end before it’s due. Why don’t you hold him while I get washed up and dressed? I want food, but I don’t trust that it won’t be poisoned as well.” 

Dorian nodded, and they exchanged places, Dorian held Zevran gently, tenderly brushing the hair away from the elf’s face and staring down at him, waiting for some sign of returning life and consciousness.

Fenris washed quickly and dressed before coming over to kiss both men on the cheek. “I’ll go to the kitchens myself and get food for us and then we should move to my quarters, they are larger and ...I can keep an eye on both of you.”

Dorian looked up at him bleakly. “Hurry, _amatus_ ,” he said quietly. “I have an unpleasant feeling. I feel uneasy. Something is... wrong. I cannot explain it better than that.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Fenris asked quietly, unsure if he wanted to leave them at all. 

“Please,” nodded Dorian. “If word gets out about this - if the assassin is amongst Josie’s agents? I fear for what might happen if they decided to move more directly against us and take the chance of finishing Zevran off whilst he’s so vulnerable.”

“Alright… I’ll stay,” Fenris said as he sat with them and tried to gather himself. 

“This place... it’s tainted,” said Dorian in a low voice. “Infected. Some foul corruption; perhaps the atrocities Vengeance forced Zevran to commit weakened the Veil and it’s sending out ripples... but I fear that if we do not get Zevran out of here, it may claim him yet. Fenris... we _must_ learn what it was that Vengeance sought to achieve. That butchery... it cannot have been meaningless. Vengeance was using those people’s deaths to fuel something. Something foul and unnatural.” His expression had darkened. “Fenris... I think we need to talk to Anders, and try to find out just what Vengeance planned.”

“Alright.. We’ll see him later. For now let’s try to relax and not give in to fear.” Fenris kissed them both before wandering around the rooms, feeling ill at ease.

**

It was several hours later that Josephine returned to deliver her reports in person. Dorian had fallen into a restless sleep, Zevran still cradled in his arms, as comatose as before although Fenris fancied there was a little less greyness in his face, and his lips had lost their blue tinge. 

“I have little news at present,” said Josephine grimly as she laid the reports on Dorian’s desk with a brief, cursory glance at Dorian’s notes and theoretical workings before she turned her attention back to Fenris. “We have, at least, established that your own quarters have not been affected, and nor have mine - and no-one has been near Anders, according to Vulpine. Varania has asked for you; I have stated that you are unavailable and engaged in important work that cannot be interrupted, even for her.”

“I don’t … I’ll check on her later,” Fenris said before pulling off his boots and tunic. “Anything else, Josie?”

“There have been some curious alterations to guard rotas,” she replied. “Nothing that would bring any of the guards involved anywhere near Dorian’s rooms, however; it seems to revolve around the rotunda and the guards set to prevent access to the Rookery. I had Zevran’s birds moved to temporary housing, but they are extremely restless without him. I can only hope that they don’t take it upon themselves to come seek him.” She grimaced, and Fenris got the impression this had happened before.

She was about to say something else, when Zevran turned his head a little and groaned, his eyelids fluttering.

The groan got Fenris’ attention to the Antivan. “I was getting worried he wouldn’t wake at all,” he admitted quietly as he took one of Zevran’s hands between his and kissed it. “Come back to us.”

Zevran groaned again as he slowly opened his eyes a little; Fenris could see a hint of the whites of the Antivan’s eyes through his dark gold eyelashes. His fingers twitched a little.

“Zevran? Come on and talk to us,” Fenris asked as he held the other elf’s hand and rubbed his thumb over and over in a easy pattern. 

Josephine seated herself near Zevran’s feet to watch in silence as Zevran blinked slowly, his eyes attempting to focus on Fenris.

“Hurts,” whispered the Antivan hoarsely. “Poison. How... how long?”

“You were comatose for several hours; we are not sure exactly how long,” said Josephine. “Dorian discovered you when he awoke, but you may have slipped into the coma before then. Dorian fetched me in time; I recognised the poison, and I know the antidote.”

“The... soap? Almonds,” Zevran managed.

“Yes, it was the soap,” she nodded.

“Fenris,” murmured Zevran, his fingers tightening on Fenris’ hand.

“Zevran, Dorian is here and holding you safe,” Fenris replied softly. “What do you need?” 

“Water,” Zevran whispered, and then, after a pause, “... you.”

The warrior got water for his Antivan and helped him sip it, though he was quiet as he waited for Zevran to finish. “Dorian is here too, he woke me to tell me what was going on.” 

Zevran turned his head enough to notice the sleeping magister, Dorian’s head fallen to one side as he rested against the headboard, dark shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes.

“Sorry I... troubled you all,” Zevran managed. He attempted to sit up, but he was too weak.

“You’re not a trouble at all,” Fenris said quietly. 

Zevran made another attempt to push himself upright; he seemed frustrated at the slow pace of his recovery. He managed to lift his head a little, and he gripped Fenris’ hand tighter.

“Crows,” he said in a low growl. “Crows did this. Kill them.”

“We’ll find them, Zevran,” nodded Josephine. He swung his head around to glare at her.

“No. _I_ kill them,” he vowed.

“Of course, you’ll kill them all and keep us safe,” Fenris agreed before he squeezed the other elf’s hand. 

Zevran stared at him, then slowly nodded before he slumped, his eyes closing as his head fell forward and his hand went limp in Fenris’ grasp.

“He will have little strength for a while yet,” said Josephine quietly. “It will take time for him to heal completely, and he will be easily exhausted for a day or two.” She rose and dusted off her skirts. “I shall return later. A poison taster has been assigned to test all food brought to the three of you; we shall take no further chances.”

“Alright, when they are done we should have food,” Fenris replied as he watched both men sleep. “After we eat, I’ll go see Anders and see what Varania wanted.” After a moment he glanced at her. “Do you have any idea what she wanted?”

“None,” shrugged Josephine. “I shall leave you three to rest.” She nodded to Fenris then departed in a rustle of soft silks, leaving Fenris alone with the two sleeping men.

 

**

After making sure food was brought for them, Fenris went off to search for Varania. He finally found her as she was leaving Anders’ room. “I heard you were looking for me.” 

She halted and regarded him thoughtfully, one hand still resting on the handle to the door of Anders’ room. “I was, yes,” she nodded. “You’re the leader of the Inquisition now; I need to know if my role will change now I’m reporting to you instead of Anders - who is awake and moderately lucid these days. Well... as lucid as he ever gets now, but I suppose you’ll see that for yourself. I also wanted to know when you wish the investigation of the Rookery to begin?”

“Would you prefer to report to Dorian or someone besides your sibling? Your role won’t change, Varania.” Fenris tried to give her a smile but he felt wrong. “May we go somewhere and talk?” 

“I think perhaps you should see Anders’ condition for yourself; we can talk then,” she sniffed. She fixed him with a sharp stare. “We both know I wouldn’t be reporting to my _sibling_ , as you put it, in any case - don’t we?” 

As he stared at her, Varania gave Fenris a knowing smirk. “I’ll speak to you later, Leto... or should that be _Fenris_?” She sauntered away, leaving him standing beside the door to Anders’ room.

“Please wait for me, I just want to check on him for a moment...Varania,” Fenris asked her quietly before slipping in to see how the other man was doing. He shut the door before approaching.

“Anders? Do you feel like seeing anyone?” the elf asked as he got closer. 

The blond man appeared at first not to have heard him; he sat perfectly still in a chair by the fire, his face turned towards it as he gazed vacantly at the dancing flames. But after a moment he turned his head to look at Fenris.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “I was hoping you’d come visit me.”

“You were?” the elf replied as he took the chair across from what Vengeance had left behind. “What can I do for you?”

“Tell me what I’ve lost,” said Anders softly. “What... what I did in the... the gaps between, when I was shut away in the dark?” He tapped his forehead. “Tell me why there are people I don’t remember... this place, why it feels so... so _wrong_?” He blinked, then suddenly lunged forward to grasp Fenris’ wrists in a surprisingly strong grip - his left hand flesh and blood, the right hand carved of some pale wood, polished to a smoothness, fine swirls of a silvery metal curling about the fingers and disappearing up beneath the sleeves of Anders’ simple linen shirt.

“Tell me why I’m still alive and how you did it! Why didn’t you let me die?” he said in a low, almost angry voice, his amber eyes intense as they held Fenris’ gaze. “And tell me where Leto is. They won’t tell me anything!”

“Anders! Easy...you, how do I tell you this?” Fenris blinked as he realized what he’d said. “You… know then? I’m not him, who told you and why?” He didn’t try and pull his hands free; instead he just returned the other man’s stare. 

“I may have lost my mind but I’m not _stupid_ ,” Anders pointed out scornfully. “You don’t walk like Leto. You walk like he _used_ to, back when he was used to carrying a sword instead of a staff. And little things the red-haired girl has said....”

He released Fenris’ wrists as he sat back and gazed into the fire, his flesh-and-blood hand rubbing absently at the unfeeling wooden one. “I should know her,” he said softly. “Why can’t I remember?”

Fenris sighed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Hold on...I’ll be right back.”

He ran out to see if Varania was still there, unsure if she would even have waited. He found the hallway outside was empty, no sign of the red-haired woman. Sighing, he returned inside, closing the door behind him as he glanced over to Anders again.

“She’s gone - the woman,” said Anders without looking round. “She never stays long. I think she is annoyed by me, but I don’t know why. I don’t remember her. I think perhaps she’s from the screaming time - when I was in the dark on my own. She seems to know me.”

“Dumat… this is going to be a lot.” Fenris got them wine and told Anders what had happened to him since arriving in their world, including how he thought Leto was in his world and how he’d been working with Dorian and others to get home. “You...rather the dark you, the other creature was going to kill Zevran and probably Dorian. I couldn’t ignore that threat. I’m sorry you’re suffering and I hope you can recover to how you were before things went...dark for you.” 

“It wasn’t always dark,” shrugged Anders. “Sometimes I heard someone say a name, and then I was myself... sometimes it was like a horrible nightmare in which I could only watch in horror as someone else controlled my body and spoke with my voice... and did horrible, horrible things.” He shuddered. “Maker, the things I was forced to watch....” There was horror and remembered terror in Anders’ voice as he slowly wrapped his arms around his torso and gazed through the fire at remembered atrocities he’d been forced to witness. “I remember - remember hearing my voice... my hands covered in blood, and the things... I made Zevran do. And then....”

He broke off and looked up at Fenris. “I heard my voice tell you I would hang Zevran... and that... that _he_ would make me watch! And then you left... and _he_ was controlling me, my body... playing with... with....” He closed his eyes. “Make it stop,” he whispered. “No - don’t - don’t make me remember _this_ -”

Fenris felt helpless. “What can I do besides tell you what I know? I’ve given you all I have from my time here and unless I can put you to sleep, or sit with you until you fall back asleep, I don’t know what else to do for you Anders.” 

Anders’ head jerked up at the mention of being put to sleep. “Please, no!” he begged. “They - the girl and the woman - they keep giving me things to make me sleep, but they don’t understand! Please - don’t - keep them away from me! I - I don’t want to sleep, not like that!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll...sit with you and talk but I don’t know what else I can tell you, since you knew I didn’t belong here.” Fenris gave him a thin smile before downing the rest of his wine. “Can you sleep on your own?” 

“I’m... afraid to be alone,” Anders confessed in a small voice. “I’m sorry, I know this must be frustrating for you - but you have no idea how frustrating this is for _me_.”

“I can imagine but you’re right. However if I don’t return to Leto’s quarters, or Dorian’s, people will become suspicious - rather, more suspicious than they are getting. Do you want some more light, at least?” Fenris offered.

Anders glanced around the room. “I can make light myself just fine - or,” he added, with a disgusted look, “I _could_ if they stopped putting magebane in my food. I’m not possessed _now_. But... I could use a few more candles,” he admitted. “And less magebane,” he added, glancing at the floor.

“I’ll see what _Leto_ can do about that before I find Varania. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Fenris left him to find a guard and then his dear sister after passing off orders to give Anders more light. He wanted to discuss the magebane with Dorian and Zevran first. “Where the Void did she go?” 

He pondered a while, then decided to go back and talk to Dorian and Zevran. Perhaps Dorian could shed some light on Varania’s behaviour... and then there was the matter of poisoning Anders with magebane.

His mind made up, he turned to head back to Dorian’s room.

Alone once more, Anders turned his gaze back to the fire. Slowly he clenched his fist of wood, and then bit his lip. “Why didn’t you let me die?” he whispered.

But there was no answer in the flames.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellowynne discovers the source of the feeling of evil in the Rookery, and reveals to Leto just what Solas has done.

Anders slowly drifted awake. His chest ached, though not as much as he remembered it feeling earlier when he’d been confronted by Varania. He felt warm and comfortable, aside from his chest; he seemed to be lying in bed - and his own bed, rather than an infirmary cot, from the feel of it. As he lay there with his eyes closed, he became gradually aware of the sounds around him - someone breathing slowly and deeply, in the cadences of a sleeper, somewhere close by, and low voices talking somewhere further away.

He was able to pick out three voices - Pin, Callus and Invictus, it seemed. And all three sounded angry as they talked in low voices - though not arguing together; they seemed to be all three in accord over something and were quietly furious.

He turned his head upon the pillow towards the sounds of the sleeper, and opened his eyes.

Zevran lay asleep in the bed next to him, face pale and dark shadows under his eyes; one hand rested upon his stomach over the down-filled comforter, the other lay by his side. Anders stretched out a hand to lay it gently over Zevran’s limp fingers; the blond elf did not stir, his breast rising and falling slowly and steadily, the Antivan deep under in a dreamless sleep. As Anders tentatively let his healer’s senses extend out into Zevran’s body, he realised why: his body was working swiftly to repair damage. Anders could feel the effects of magic working upon the Antivan’s body, and recognised the feel of his daughter’s magic. Following its path through Zevran’s body, Anders could mentally envision the injuries the elf had suffered - he had attempted to lift something far too heavy, then taken a serious blow to the abdomen before either he had hit the floor or something hard with his back - a fall, perhaps? - which had resulted in further injury to his spine and jarred his weaker leg. Anders frowned as he tried to work out how Zevran could have sustained such injuries. Had he been attacked? But how - surely they were safe, here in Skyhold?

His mind went to Varania, and the horrific injuries that had been inflicted upon Zevran the last time they had encountered her. Had she attacked him with Force magic? But that seemed unlikely - she had been engaged in research in the College library, and she would hardly be doing that only a short while after attacking Zevran. She had raised no hand against Anders, after all. Her desire to help them get Fenris back seemed genuine.

He turned his head back to glance towards the other voices; in the main part of his room, beyond the thin gauzy curtains that separated the sleeping area from the working and living area, Invictus was pacing as Pin and Callus watched, dark expressions upon all three faces. Invictus was quietly ranting, his hands wreathed with smoke, and Anders caught the name “Varania” and then his own name. They were evidently furious by the revelation of her arrival in Skyhold and its resulting effect on him.

Vic glanced over to see if they had woken their love and was glad to see him moving, but hopeful they hadn’t actually woken him up. “Love?”

Callus glanced over and frowned at how still Zevran was next to Anders. His master seemed even worse off than when he’d left him earlier.

“What’s happened?” asked Anders, hating how weak his voice sounded, even to his own ears. “What’s been going on? Love - your hands are smoking....”

“Well you saw Varania...and, well, we’re all angry with Aeolus for bringing her here, but also how he’s reacted to Leto and Zev spending any time together. Let’s just say we all want to have words with Fenris’ dear brother,” Vic said as he shook his hands to dispel the fire he couldn’t keep from rising. 

“I’m going to poison his coffee or worse when I see my dear uncle,” Callus remarked.

“You’ll do no such thing!” replied Anders as he tried to sit up. “Maker’s breath, I feel ridiculously weak....”

“I said poison, not kill him Anders,” Callus said with a mischievous grin. “I just want him to suffer a bit - after all, not all poisons are lethal, as Zevran taught me.” 

“You feel weak cause you damn near died from another heart attack then climbed all those stairs and got another shock when you saw _her_ ,” Vic snarled. 

“Pin, help me up,” said Anders in a tone of determination.

“Master?” she exclaimed. “Are you sure that’s wise? You should be resting!” Nonetheless, she hurried to his side, throwing back the thin gauzy curtain that separated the two parts of Anders’ room.

“I prefer to be moderately upright,” replied Anders, his eyes on Callus and Vic as she helped him up then fluffed up the pillows, rearranging them so he could sit up more comfortably. Beside him, Zevran slept on, oblivious and still. Anders looked down at him. “So, anyone care to tell me exactly what Aeolus did to Zevran - and where my daughter is? I can feel that it was Ellowynne who healed him.”

Vic had fallen silent at Callus’ mention of poisoning his brother-in-law. He busied himself with getting them dinner instead of replying.

“He dragged Zevran down to the infirmary when he found him with Leto and...it appears they fought when Master Hawke found out about our...aunt being brought here to help with bringing papa home. Leto was there but sleeping, but he helped get Zevran down to the infirmary at least. We haven’t seen him in a while though, so hopefully they aren’t fighting, or maybe he finally gave our uncle what he deserves for being an ass,” Callus said as he toyed with a dagger for want of occupying his hands.

Anders stared at Callus. “You’re telling me that Aeolus hit Zevran,” he said quietly. His voice had gone flat. 

Abruptly he threw back the covers and set a foot on the floor as he attempted to rise. “Right, that’s it. I’m going to find Aeolus and -”

“YOU SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW!” Vic bellowed at him.

“No need to yell at him Enchanter Hawke,” Callus started to say before Vic whirled on him in anger.

“No, I _will_ yell if Anders winds up dead because he wants to go fight Aeolus. Who is almost as strong as your father, in case you forgot? I will go find Leto and then we’ll find Aeolus and have a chat with him, which you can come for if you like Callus.”

Anders had fallen back onto the bed with a stunned look, his eyes wide as he recoiled from Vic’s anger, unnerved. He swallowed hard. “Don’t shout,” he whispered. “Please... don’t.”

“Master, lie back,” urged Pin as she bent over him; unresisting, he laid back against the pillows as she tucked him back into bed again. His eyes were on Invictus the whole time as she fussed over him, never losing the stunned look.

Beside him, Zevran stirred then gave a low groan as the hand resting over his stomach slowly clutched at it through the covers.

“I’m sorry...I’m so worried for you love. I forgot how much you hate shouting,” Vic said quietly.

“Considering the way uncle has been behaving, I’m surprised you haven’t yelled louder,” Cal said before approaching his mentor. “Master Hawke?”

Zevran had rolled over onto his side, curling up a little as he clutched at his stomach, slowly opening his eyes as he gritted his teeth against his discomfort. “Callus?” he managed. “What... where am I?”

“Zevran - lie still,” said Anders gently as he stretched a hand out to the elf.

“ _Mi - mi cuore_?” Zevran murmured as he reached out with his free hand and clutched at Anders’ hand. “I thought I heard Invictus... what has happened? _Brasca_ \- it feels like my insides are on fire....”

“It seems my uncle hit you while you were arguing. Leto brought you to the infirmary and after you were healed we brought you here.” Cal glanced to his sister and nodded at his former teacher. “Sister, if you could help?” 

Pin was already moving around the bed to help Zevran, her hands glowing blue with healing magic. Anders closed his eyes as he drew on his own magic then let it flow through his hand into Zevran.

“I’ll get food sent to you all,” Vic said softly before nearly running out to the kitchens. 

“Dumat, this is a mess,” Callus said as the door shut. He turned back and raised an eyebrow at Anders joining in the healing. “Master Anders, you haven’t had a good meal and just woke up; perhaps save your strength until after you’ve had something? It won’t help Zevran if you pass out again...ser,” he added reluctantly.

Anders had bowed his head as he drew more on his own bodily reserves, letting it flow into Zevran as he sought to relieve Zevran’s pain. He could feel Pin’s magic flowing through Zevran as well as she called healing spirits - stronger than the little wisps that Ellowynne could call - to help them. As Callus drew closer to them, he could see and hear Anders’ breath growing ragged as the mage slowly paled.

Callus frowned at how he looked and gently tugged the older man’s hand away. “Please, you’re just hurting yourself. You won’t help anyone like this, ser.” He tugged gently at Anders until he was just far enough away to not touch the elf but still on the bed. “Please, we can’t lose you too.”

“Zevran,” Anders managed weakly. “Please, I... I have to....”

Zevran managed to raise his head to stare up at Anders. “ _Mi cuore_... it is enough,” he said softly. “You have eased my pain, and Pin is... continuing what your daughter began. I will be well in time. Do not fret, my love.”

“I can’t lose you too,” Anders whispered, as he allowed Callus to pull him back over onto the pillows once more. “I’d sooner die than lose you.”

“I know, _mi cuore_ ,” sighed Zevran. “And I also would rather die than watch you be taken from me a second time. I did not think I would survive such pain when you were taken the first time. A second? I think I would seek to follow you soon after.”

“Stop it,” said Pin, fiercely, as she straightened. “Stop talking of dying! Neither of you will die whilst I have breath left in my body!”

“No one is dying, you’re just tired and hurting ... both of you. Now let Pin work and once Invictus returns, he can help you, sister,” Callus said tiredly. “Dumat, I could use some of Zevran’s brandy right about now.”

“I, too, would also like some brandy,” murmured Zevran as he closed his eyes and laid his head back down. His hand had loosened a little where it clutched his midriff, the elf slowly uncurling and relaxing as Pin laid her hands on him and worked healing once more.

Anders rolled onto his back and gazed up at the ceiling. “Sweet Andraste, I wish we were home in Nevarra,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. “I wish none of this had ever happened.”

“Why don’t you all go home and recover? We can handle things here and it might let Leto have some breathing room from people he doesn’t know,” Callus suggested as Vic returned to them. “Good you’re back, maybe you can get Master Zevran a sip of brandy before food arrives? And wine for Anders, I hear red is better for him due to his heart.” 

“Of course Callus, food should be here shortly,” Vic replied as he did as asked. 

“Vic?” said Anders weakly. “I want to go home.”

“To Nevarra?” he asked as he handed his love a half glass of red. “If you wish it, as long as the house isn’t still in shambles.”

Pin glanced up at him. “I suspect it probably is,” she replied. “After all, they weren’t able to send anyone before we went to Adamant because no-one could afford to take the risk of letting Nightmare or one of its demons slip through. Has anyone thought to do it since we got back? I’ve been too busy focusing on Master Anders and working in the infirmary - and is it wise to move so far away from the healing facilities here at Skyhold?” She straightened. “And Dorian and the senior College mages are all working hard on finding a way to get Father back.”

“I haven’t thought of it to be sure, and I doubt any of us have. I’ll ask for workmen to be sent so it will be ready when Fenris is back.” Vic sighed as he thought of his love, hopeful the elf wasn’t having as bad a time as they were. “I’ll check the state of the house first, and I hope to the Maker it’s not falling apart.” 

“I’m sorry sister, I hadn’t thought of the portal restrictions. I’d thought it was fixed up by now,” Callus admitted. 

“We’re almost into autumn,” Anders murmured, his gaze distant. “The apples need to be harvested. The garden must be overgrown with weeds by now....”

“We’ll fix it all up, Master,” said Pin firmly. “We’ll gather apples and there’ll be apple pie for my father - and for you. We’ll make the house ready and be in before the first snows of winter.” She glanced down, then gently shook Zevran’s shoulder. “Uncle Zevran? Uncle Zevran, there’s brandy?” There was no answer; Zevran’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but even. Pin glanced up at Invictus. “I’m... not sure if he’s sleeping,” she confessed.

“Let him be for now Pin, he’s probably exhausted from being healed again,” Vic said just as there was a knock on their door. 

“Callus, can you set the table please?” he asked as he let servants in, and once they were done, he fixed a plate for Anders. “Do you want to sit at the table love?” 

Anders glanced over at the table, then shook his head tiredly. “I don’t think I could manage even those few steps to the table,” he confessed. The empty wine glass was held loosely in his hand, at risk of falling. “Someone should find Ellowynne and tell her it’s time for dinner,” he added wearily as he closed his eyes.

Invictus frowned as he came over with a tray. “Love, you need to eat so you can get better. Come on and have something for me, please?” 

Anders’ eyes fluttered half open as the wine glass fell from his lax hand, and he sighed before his eyes closed again. “So tired, Vic,” he slurred softly. “Always so tired....”

“I know love, but if you don’t eat you’ll stay tired. Can I feed you if you need it?” Vic offered as he set the tray across Anders’ lap and dipped bread into the stew for him. “Have something, please?”

There was no answer; Anders’ eyes remained closed, his head turned a little to one side upon the pillows, his hands fallen limp in his lap as he reclined against the pillows, breathing slow and steady in sleep once more, the mage utterly exhausted after even what little healing he was able to give his elven husband. Zevran slept deeply at his side, one hand still a little outstretched towards Anders.

“Anders? Anders?” Vic called but there was no answer. “Come on, don’t do this love. I can’t… don’t leave me alone, please.” His voice wavered as he reached out to shake the other man’s shoulder. “I’m scared, please don’t leave me like this.”

Anders’ eyes drifted half open. “Vic?” he slurred softly. “Not going anywhere... just tired.” He sighed softly, but kept his gaze on the other mage as he lifted a hand to clumsily pat Vic’s arm.

The brunet mage leaned forward to rest against Anders’ shoulder and cried quietly. “Afraid I’ve lost it love, I can’t keep up anymore,” he said just loud enough for the blond to hear. 

Pin and Callus were staring at Invictus, startled and more than a little alarmed as Anders lifted an arm to weakly hug the mage.

“Vic... it’s alright love, I’m still here,” murmured Anders gently. He pressed a light kiss to Vic’s cheek, feeling the wetness there. “You haven’t lost me yet. I’m just very tired. I just... don’t seem to have any strength in me.” He held Vic as close as he could, resting his cheek against Vic’s hair. “I’m sorry I’m so weak. You shouldn’t have to carry all this alone, love.”

“I’m sorry I shouted, I’m so scared,” Vic said softly as he closed his eyes. “If you can’t eat now, just rest ok?” 

Anders nodded as he closed his eyes. “Love you, Vic,” he said softly. “It’s going to be OK... just as soon as we get Fenris back.” He gave Vic’s shoulder one last pat then sighed softly as he slipped back into dreams.

Beside him, Zevran slept on.

**

“At least some things are the same here,” Leto muttered as he headed to the dungeons in the hope Anders’ daughter was around. He’d heard her screams and fleeing down stairs but not the ones out of the Rookery. “If something has happened to her, it will kill him.” 

The stone steps curved down in a narrow spiral from the Rookery all the way down to the level of the dungeons. In Leliana’s time, she had used them to oversee directly the questioning of prisoners; Leto had been familiar with them, sometimes accompanying her down to observe such sessions himself. He hadn’t been down them since Zevran had taken over; the Crow preferred to work without others looking over his shoulder, though Leto had been aware that the Inquisitor had looked in on such sessions from time to time - the Inquisitor had appeared to be unaware of the existence of the secret staircase however, and Zevran had kept the door locked. 

For one reason or another however, the Zevran in this world had left the staircase unlocked - and Ellowynne had fled down it for some unknown reason. As Leto hurried down the stairs after her, he heard her scream again, the sound echoing oddly off the dark, dank stones. He was having to be careful of his footing now, lest he slipped.

The further down he went, the louder her screams grew - and the more oppressive and unclean the very air felt. Leto couldn’t shake the sense that he was wading down into a thick, almost velvety black atmosphere of malevolence; a brooding presence that lurked unseen just beyond the fragile barrier of the Veil.

And down here, he could feel just how thin the Veil was. Something had happened to rend and tear at the very fabric of reality itself - though he could see nothing down in these dark dungeons to account for it. He glanced around, and his eleven eyes could make out the sconces brackets upon the walls, bearing unlit torches; with a wave of his hand he lit them.

The first room he emerged into seemed to be a general open area where perhaps Leliana and later Zevran had kept various gear they preferred to store more securely away from the Rookery; there were shelves of bottles filled with every possible reagent, others filled with racks of poisons. Other sets of shelves held knives, short swords, wire garrottes and other tools.

The doorway leading on from that room led to a row of cells, all empty. Sets of manacles hung in each. There were splashes of rust brown on the bare stone floors; old blood from victims perhaps.

The door at the far end stood open, and it was from here that he could hear Ellowynne’s voice. She was no longer screaming; all he could hear of her was a low sobbing, and Leto hurried through the door to find himself in the interrogation room.

It was filled with various instruments and implements of torture. In the middle was a large wooden table that was stained dark with blood; a tray with various sharp knives, picks and other instruments rested on a smaller table nearby. There was a rack by the far wall, a large cross with iron manacles set at various points stood against another, and an iron chair with fastenings for leather straps where an occupant’s wrists, ankles and neck would rest stood against another. Manacles and chains hung from the walls and various points from the ceiling, and braziers stood in various places. As Leto gazed around, he spotted a set of brands laid out on a metal table near one such brazier, and shuddered as he recognised the lyrium brand used for making mages Tranquil.

Ellowynne was huddled in a corner, hunched over into a ball, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed in terror. All around, Leto fancied he could hear distant ghostly voices that might have been spirits, and the Veil felt dangerously thin here. There was an overwhelming sense of pure evil; and Leto realised this room must be the source of the disquieting feeling that even Zevran had been able to pick up on in the Rookery far overhead.

“This place is...evil,” he shuddered before approaching Ellowynne carefully. “We need to go back upstairs, the Veil is wrong, too thin here,” Leto said as he got closer.

Ellowynne’s head jerked up and she gazed through him, her eyes wide in horror as she stared at something unseen. “Stop - stop, please, oh please _stop!_ ” she cried. “ _Zio_! Stop it - leave him alone, please!”

“I’m not doing anything to Zevran, come back to the present Ellowynne. Your zeeo is upstairs sleeping and he’d probably want to see you,” Leto said as he knelt in front of the young woman. “Please, you’re not seeing what’s happening here.”

“ _Zio_ ,” Ellowynne whimpered as she extended a hand in the direction of the large, bloodstained table in the middle of the room. “Please... put the knife down! You don’t have to do this!” Her eyes were glazed, like those of a sleepwalker.

Leto grabbed her by the shoulders and gently shook the young blonde woman. “Ellowynne, Zevran isn’t down here, it's just us. Please listen to me so we can leave here!” he begged.

She cried out and struggled, eyes wide in terror. “Please - not me!” she screamed. “Please, don’t take me! _Zio_ \- don’t let him take me too! No - please!” She was trying to press herself further against the wall, feet scrabbling against the slick stones as she tried to shrink away from him. “ _Zio_ \- Father, _no!!_ Not the knife, _please!! FATHER!!!_ ”

“Ellowynne! SNAP OUT OF IT! I’m not going to hurt you!” Leto asked as he stood and pulled her to her feet. “Look at me, hear me ok? I’m going to take us back upstairs, one step at a time, ok?” 

“L-L-Leto?” she stammered, her eyes finally slowly focusing on him. “Oh thank the Maker - please, please take me away from here!” She was clinging to him now instead of pulling away. “I can’t stop seeing it - blood, blood everywhere, it’s on my hands, I can - I can _smell_ it! Oh Maker, get me out!”

“Hold on to me and let’s run.” Leto said as he felt her grab his hand tight as she could before he ran them back up the stairs and out to the Rookery. He looked around and shuddered briefly before heading to the door; he needed to be away from there and to find a bottle of something strong enough to make him sleep and not dream. 

Ellowynne was weeping as they ran; halfway across the Rookery floor she stumbled upon the rug and fell heavily to her knees, her hand slipping from his as she doubled over, sobbing. “Father... Father! Oh, _mi Zio_ \- what did he do to you? Not real - it _can’t_ be real, that - my father could never do that!”

“That wasn’t real, Ellowynne. I doubt Anders would stay if what you saw was real. My guess is something that happened else…” Leto fell silent as the truth finally fell in place for him. “No… Zevran wouldn’t do such things, even at his command.” He stood there for a moment considering the ugly truth that stared him in the face before scooping her up and carrying her the rest of the way until they were well away from the darkness he’d felt. 

Ellowynne curled up in his arms, clinging to his tunic. She had gradually stopped weeping as he carried her further from the Rookery until she was quiet. As he finally came to a halt, she slowly looked up at him. “I - I saw my father standing over Zevran,” she said in a hushed voice. “There was blood everywhere. Zevran was torturing a man to death, and as the man bled, Father was using his blood... it was forming glyphs in the air, and the Veil was slowly shredding all around me. I could sense demons on the other side, waiting to pour through. And my _Zio’s_ face was so empty, so blank... his eyes so dead... as though he were empty inside, just... just a puppet obeying Father’s commands. Father’s eyes were as cold and blue as ice, and then he seemed to see me... and I knew I would be next. And _Zio_ was coming towards me with that bloody knife and I knew... I knew....” She shuddered and closed her eyes. “What does it mean? My father would never do blood magic! And _Zio_ \- how could he do such terrible things? Was - was the blood magic controlling him too?”

“I think so,” Leto said as he walked towards Anders’ rooms. “I think you might have been seeing my world, where your father is Inquisitor but he never got rid of his demon and, well… Zevran never freed himself of the Crows. My world is pretty fucking terrible now that I can see it clearly,” the elf admitted. 

Ellowynne shuddered. “Sweet Andraste,” she whispered. “And now my Uncle Fenris is there too - what on earth is your world doing to him? I dread to think!”

After a few minutes she said quietly, “I... I think I can walk now. I’m grateful that you heard me and knew where to find me, Leto. Dare I ask how you knew of the existence of those stairs?”

“I hope nothing is happening to him, or that they didn’t do anything when they realized he wasn’t me.” Leto let her down gently, unable to look her in the eye as he answered.

“Skyhold is home for me in my world. Sometimes I would go down there to be alone, or when I just needed a break from my duties. It was before whatever you saw. As my role changed and Vengeance had greater requirements of me, I was able to go down there less. Now I wish I had known, else I could have ...I wouldn’t have let my Zevran lose himself to that.”

“But... those rooms down there....” She shuddered. “Those reagents on those shelves... they were fresh. My _Zio_ has used them.” Her voice was quiet and subdued. “And he has knives like those I saw in my vision.”

“I think you’re still seeing what happened in my world, I doubt he’s able to make the run down there and back with how much pain he’s been in Ellowynne.” Leto wasn’t able to face her as he considered all that he’d let happen, why Zevran seemed to happily submit to the things he’d wanted to do to him. “Dumat...I’ve helped him along with his self hate.” He let his mind go back to the things they’d done, the way he’d make the other elf bleed for him, his screams. That was the last straw before he covered his mouth and gagged. “I’m going to be sick,” he rasped. 

Ellowynne regarded him with sympathy. “I am so sorry for the darkness in your world,” she said gently. “What could have happened, that your world is so full of evil? Did Corypheus win in your world?”

Leto shook his head no and regretted it. “Privy, I … would rather not throw up in the hallway,” he muttered.

She took hold of his arm and guided him swiftly to the nearest privy then stood guard outside as the contents of his stomach were rapidly and noisily ejected. She waved over a passing messenger and whispered in his ear; when Leto finally re-emerged some time later, she was waiting for him with a sprig of mint in one hand and a cup of ice-cold water in the other.

“Are you feeling a little better? Physically, I mean?” she asked gently. “I won't ask about mentally; I dare say you must be faring about as well as I am right now on that score.”

“I hate throwing up, and how I feel is not fit for language I should use around you,” Leto said as he took the water and mint. He waited until the water was gone before he looked at her. “I’ve had a horrible realization and I think I need to go to my room and get very drunk now.”

“I’m not a child; don’t worry about guarding your language around me,” she said, a little acerbically as she straightened. She seemed much calmer now, more in control of herself. “I’m not so sure that your room is a healthy place for you to be; it’s directly below the Rookery, which means you must also have been sleeping right over that - that place,” she went on hurriedly. “Perhaps you need to move to a different room - I’m worried for you now we both know what must have happened in your world. What I’m not so sure of is why I should have seen it in a vision like this, or why the Veil is so thin here in my world. I’m pretty certain Meneris has not been forcing _mi Zio_ to torture people to death; certainly Dorian hasn’t been performing blood magic down there - and I doubt anyone else has, either. I think the only way in or out of those dungeons must be from the Rookery - and you are right; now I can think clearly again, I can see that Zevran could never make it up and down those stairs unaided, much less manhandle some sacrificial victim down there.”

“Apologies, I don’t really know what to do with teenagers,” Leto said tiredly. “It’s getting late, I’ll ask someone where I can move tomorrow - hopefully away from everyone so I can have some damn peace until I can go home.” He was tired, emotionally raw and felt himself getting snippy. 

“I’m sorry - I’m not exactly a normal teenager, mind you,” she sighed. “After my years with Master Solas, I’m not sure anything about me could be considered normal.” She rubbed her face tiredly, then her forehead where she could feel an unpleasant headache coming on again.

“Solas? What did he do to you? We’ve been unable to find that bastard ever since he fled once we defeated Corypheus!” Leto snarled. 

Her head jerked up and she paled, before closing her eyes as she visibly composed herself. She opened her eyes again and returned Leto’s gaze steadily. “Solas came across me when I was in the Arbor Wilds,” she said quietly. “I was lost in the ancient elven ruins; Lady had followed a stray scent but it had petered out by the edge of a cliff. He offered to help me in my journey. He led me to an eluvian, and thence to a pocket realm where he and his followers are based. And no,” she added swiftly, lifting a hand to forestall him, “I don’t know exactly where that is, and unless you have a way to wrest control of the eluvians from him then I cannot lead you or anyone else there, so please don’t ask.” She held his gaze steadily for a moment before going on. 

“Time does not flow normally there as it does elsewhere; a trick of the Fade, perhaps, or maybe it was a peculiarity of the eluvians he led me through. Whatever the cause, it means that I spent more than four years in his realm. He knew I was the daughter of an elf and a human, and he could sense the potential of my magic. He taught me; and almost all I know of magic and the Fade, I learned from him. I was his first apprentice in more than a thousand years.” There was a faint note of pride in her voice. “I mastered many arts whilst with him, including the art of Dreamwalking. And he awakened my elven blood within me, allowing me to reclaim my heritage. He taught me the truth behind many of the Dalish legends of their Creators, and of the evanuri. And before you ask - yes, I know of his plans to tear down the Veil, and no, I do not support him in those aims. When the four years were up, he declared he could teach me no more and that I was finally ready to return to my father - that I am now the daughter my father needs, if not the one he thought he knew.”

As Ellowynne had gone on, Leto’s expression shifted from confusion, to annoyance to wondering just what that bastard had done to the young woman in front of him. As she carried on, one eyebrow rose almost to his hairline as she finished. “I had no intent on asking you or anyone to find an Eluvian as that egg headed fool controls them in my world and who knows where I’d end up, if I even got back to the right Thedas if I tried getting home that way. Until this mishap I had no idea other versions of the world even existed!” he paced around the hall, unsure if he wanted to ask something that had occurred to him. “It sounds like he let you learn on your own, and you weren’t forced into change suddenly like Mythal did to me and your father. I wonder if you can become a dragon as well?”

She arched an eyebrow, then chuckled drily. “Did he make me into a new Witch of the Wilds, you mean?” She tossed her braid back over her shoulder before tilting her head to stare up at him. “Surely you must know my father is a shapechanger? it would be strange indeed if I had not inherited his talent, don’t you think? I can take many forms - a cat, a wolf, a raven - and yes, I have flown as a dragon too,” she nodded. “Probably best not to mention that to my father, however. I’m not sure his heart could withstand that particular little revelation.”

“Surely I mustn't, as I haven’t been here long and have had very little chance to chat with your father. I’m not Fenris, remember?” Leto reminded her as he glanced down the hall and sighed. “I’m sure he would like to see you. I’ll find someone to ask about moving tomorrow morning.”

“Alright,” nodded Ellowynne. “You should go have dinner. I shan’t bid you to sleep well, for I know your dreams will likely be as uneasy as mine tonight.” She inclined her head slightly towards him. “I shall speak to Dorian tomorrow about what I’ve learned; he may have some insight as to why I should experience these visions here of what has happened in your own Thedas. I have a few ideas of my own, but he has more experience of these things than I have, in spite of what I have learned from Solas.” She gave him a wry smile before she turned and walked off in the direction of her father’s rooms.

She arrived to find Pin, Callus and Invictus dining with only Marian for company; Anders and Zevran slept deeply in the large bed in the curtained-off sleeping area. She glanced at them and couldn’t quite suppress a shudder as she remembered what she had seen. It was hard to reconcile the sight of the two men as they lay there, ill and hurt, both looking pale and wan, with what she had seen in her visions. She turned to find Invictus staring at her.

“Where have you been? It looks like you’ve been crawling around in the Undercroft, if I didn’t know any better,” Vic asked as he rose to make her a plate and get a drink.

“You look pretty spooked, Wynne, what have you been doing?” Callus added.

She took a seat at the table and glanced back over her shoulder at her father and Zevran before turning back to answer. “It’s what the counterparts of my father and Zevran have been doing, really,” she answered quietly. “I think I know what’s been causing the strangeness in _mi Zio’s_ moods. Over in Leto’s Thedas, it seems my father’s counterpart is possessed by a demon and somehow is Inquisitor, and... his demon has been forcing their version of Zevran to slaughter people so that it can perform blood magic to thin the Veil there, in a dungeon directly below the rotunda. I’m not sure just why it can be felt in _our_ world; some strange echo perhaps, maybe caused by the crossovers between our worlds - your father in their world, Leto here in ours. I saw... a vision. The feeling of evil down there was almost overwhelming - as you might expect, for it to be able to affect _mi Zio_ so far above it.”

Marian frowned and shared a glance with Pin before rising to pour a glass of wine for Ellowynne, who took it with a trembling hand.

“I’m scouring that place with fire and then the Rookery once I’m done there,” Vic said with a glance to his step-children then to Wynne. “Do you need anything to help you sleep?” 

“Don’t burn Skyhold down, Papa Vic. I’m sure Zevran would not like his rooms roasted,” Callus replied. 

“His ravens might be rather annoyed with you also,” remarked Ellowynne, though she could only manage half a smile as she spoke. “As for something to help me sleep... if you know of anything that would allow me to sleep deeply without fear of dreaming, I would almost be glad of it. Though the thought of being cut off from the Fade like that is almost as terrifying as the thought of what I might dream of. Still, perhaps it would be better that than risking drawing a fear demon to me whilst I sleep.”

Vic frowned as he realized the potion that Anders often made was likely at home in Nevarra. “There’s a potion your father makes, but I think all we had left is back home in our room - well, what’s left of it.”

“If my father made it then I’d be willing to take it,” sighed Ellowynne. “I have no desire to revisit what I’ve seen today - or to dream of it being Father and _mi Zio_.” She shuddered. “I am so thankful that Father is a spirit healer and could never, ever do blood magic - he cannot abide even the mention of it, much less countenance anyone performing it around him. He certainly would never perform it himself. But I don’t wish to dream of a world in which he could - far less one in which he would use it upon his own husband.”

“Thanks Wynne, just what I needed for a good nights sleep after today.” Vic muttered as he made his way to the drinks cabinet and brushed against a small, dusty bottle as he reached for the whiskey. “Well I’ll be damned, there _is_ some of the potion here.” 

Pin had gone rather pale; as she glanced at her brother and saw him trying to swallow back his own nausea, his gaze drawn involuntarily to the sleeping form of Zevran, she knew he was also recalling all the times they’d witnessed blood magic being performed on some hapless victim and trying without success not to think of that happening to the vulnerable and weak Antivan. “Better hope there’s enough for all of us then, Uncle Vic,” she said bleakly. 

Ellowynne was staring down at her wine glass. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Be thankful you didn’t share the visions with me.” She glanced over at Zevran, unable to shake the memory of him screaming Leto’s name as the Antivan submitted to Leto’s violence in penance for what the blond elf knew he had done in the dungeon far below the Rookery. She pushed herself suddenly to her feet, feeling a surge of nausea. “Excuse me; I’m going to be sick,” she managed before she fled for the bathroom.

“Pin will you go check on her please? I’ll have the potion ready for her.” Vic said as he got a small cup and some water for her. 

Pin jumped up and nodded. “Of course,” she said before heading to the bathroom after Anders’ daughter, looking as though she would rather like to throw up herself.

“Cal? Are you alright?” asked Marian as she glanced at the elven youth in concern. “You’re not looking much better than Wynne.”

As he was about to answer, Zevran suddenly kicked out fitfully in his sleep, his head tossing upon the pillow in the throes of some dream before he abruptly screamed, and then screamed again. 

Anders woke with a start, sitting up suddenly disoriented as he looked around with wild eyes. Zevran screamed for a third time before he began to thrash in the bed next to Anders.

Invictus almost dropped the bottle of potion at the Antivan’s screams. “I’m going to have a heart attack myself, at this rate!” He went over to calm the elf, hopeful he could get him to wake. 

Callus had jumped at his master’s screams, and he clutched at his chest. “Dumat, I never want to hear him do that again!” 

The screaming brought Pin and Ellowynne running out of the bathroom, Ellowynne’s face ashen white; as they stumbled to a halt, Anders was already leaning over Zevran with Invictus, the blond mage taking Zevran’s face gently in his hands as he called to him whilst Vic held Zevran’s hands. Zevran continued to thrash and struggle for a few minutes longer before his eyes snapped open and he stared up at Anders, a look of blank terror on his face for a moment before his eyes finally focused on Anders and he seemed to hear their voices. He closed his eyes as he panted, chest heaving.

“A... a dream, only a dream,” he finally managed to gasp out. “For... forgive me....”

“You’re getting the draught too,” Vic said shakily. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again at this rate.” 

“I won’t sleep well, that’s for sure,” Callus agreed

Anders looked around at the others. “Dare I ask why you’re all staring at Zevran like this?” he asked with a small frown. “He has nightmares from time to time. Maker, _I_ do, too!”

“Mostly because he startled me half to death screaming like that,” Vic said as he approached the bed with a small tray, the potion bottle and a few shot glasses. “Here, we all need this, I think.” 

“I’ve never heard _you_ scream like that, and it almost put me on the ceiling,” Callus said.

“Then you haven’t heard me during some of my darkspawn nightmares,” said Anders grimly as he kept his gaze on Zevran, not glancing up at any of them.

Zevran was grimacing and curling up a little onto his side, towards Anders. “ _Mi cuore_....” he breathed. 

“Maker’s balls - Zev, did you hurt yourself again when you thrashed in your sleep?” exclaimed Anders in soft dismay. 

“I think... perhaps I moved incautiously, no?” murmured the Antivan. “Invictus?”

“He’s here, love,” Anders said gently as he glanced up at Vic. He frowned as he stared at the bottle. “Vic... is that what I think it is?”

“Yes, and I think we all could use some of it. I know I won’t sleep well tonight. But I’d prefer if you both ate something first,” Vic replied. 

Anders stared at the bottle. “Vic, that potion contains several ingredients - but the two I’m most concerned about are the poppy juice and deathroot,” he said quietly. “The poppy juice would, at least, ease Zevran’s pain, but... I’m not sure about how advisable the deathroot may be.” He glanced up at Vic. “And I don’t know that it would be safe for me either. Is there some reason why you want us all to take this?”

“Just so we can all sleep through the night, but if you think it will hurt you...I’d rather not wake up to find you both...to find you have….” Vic couldn’t finish the sentence as he set the tray aside and headed for the door. “I need some air, I’ll be back in a little while.”

Anders looked around at the others, his eyes going to Callus, Pin and Marian before landing on Ellowynne, who was white as a sheet.

“Ellowynne? What’s wrong?” he asked gently. “Sweetheart, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” He held out a hand to her, then glanced at the others again as she came towards him. “Maker, you _all_ do! What in the Void has been going on whilst we slept, to have you all so jumpy like this? He had a nightmare, that’s all! He’s been more prone to them of late - he and I both have.”

Ellowynne took his hand. “Father... it’s something I found earlier today. We... we’ve learned something about... about the Zevran in Leto’s world, and when _mi Zio_ screamed it just came at the wrong moment,” she said gently. “Just... bad timing. But it left us all a little shaken, and... well. None of us can bear the thought of anything more happening to _mi Zio_ \- or you, Father.”

Anders stared up at her as Zevran curled up against him, his head in Anders’ lap and one arm wrapped around his midriff, the Antivan halfway asleep once more. “I don’t want to know what it is you’ve learned, or how you learned it, do I?” he said softly. “You’re afraid that if I know, the shock will harm me.”

Callus glanced at them, unsure what he could say to that. It was clear things had gotten to Invictus, and his sister seemed as on edge as he was. “Master Anders, I’m sure that whatever it is, Wynne wouldn’t hold it back without good reason.”

“Then I won’t press you on this, Wynne,” said Anders gently as he looked up at her. “And if you think that Zevran and I should take this, you likely have good reason for it.”

“I think it’s likely that with the Veil so thin nearby, nightmares might draw fear demons to one or more of us,” she said quietly. “I intend to take this myself, and if you and _mi Zio_ are having more nightmares than usual then perhaps you should as well. Invictus said that you made it; what dose do you think would be safe for each of you?”

Anders held out a hand for the bottle, and she passed it to him. Uncorking it, he sniffed it cautiously, then frowned. “It’s old; likely one of the last batches I brewed, which means it will be rather more potent now than when I first made it.” He heard the door open and close again, but paid it no mind as he went on. “I think no more than half a fingerful for either Zevran or myself, and it will likely put us out for a good ten to twelve hours. It will likely be harder to wake me than Zevran afterwards. The rest of you are young, fit and healthy; you should be able to take a finger or two of it. Invictus too, if he wishes - or a little less if he wishes to wake sooner.” He glanced around to see that Invictus had rejoined them in time to hear his last few words. 

“Hello, love - are you alright now?” he asked gently. 

“Not really,” Vic admitted as he stared at the bottle in Anders’ hand. “Please don’t take it, I can’t bear the thought of waking to finding you or Zevran had ...have....Please don’t take it, love. I’ll use a spell, or anything else.” 

Anders stared at him, then nodded. “Alright, love,” he replied with a brief glance to Ellowynne as he handed her the bottle before returning his gaze to Invictus. “I won’t take it, and nor will Zevran. You can put both of us under after we’ve eaten, alright?” He ran a hand gently through Zevran’s hair as he spoke; Zevran turned his face a little towards the touch and murmured something in Antivan that was only half-articulated.

“I’ll get some fresh food sent up for you both,” Vic said before he popped out to catch a servant. He flopped into a nearby chair and sighed. Marian had taken the bottle of sleeping draught from Anders and was frowning at it and then Pin in a way that suggested she was unwilling to let her wife risk it either.

Ellowynne sat on the edge of the bed next to her father and watched as he gently stroked a hand through Zevran’s hair. The Antivan rested with his head in Anders’ lap, eyes half closed in a drowsy state, one arm still loosely wrapped around himself.

“We all need to get away from here,” said Anders softly. “Skyhold is cursed, I swear. Though after all that happened back there, I wonder if perhaps we wouldn’t be better off finding somewhere new. I think in some ways, I’ve not felt entirely safe in the Nevarra house since Sebastian finally caught up to me there, and part of me has never felt entirely easy at being that close to Perendale in any case. Maybe... maybe we should move further north, nearer the Anderfels border....”

“If I had been older, Sebastian wouldn’t have been able to hurt you like that, Father,” said Ellowynne softly. “I would kill any man who dared harm you now.”

“Don’t be so swift to talk of death, love,” said Anders sadly as he glanced up at her. He sighed. “I wish I knew what had happened to change you so. Every day you seem more and more your mother’s daughter and less mine. Though you still have my eyes.” He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek gently; she caught his hand and pressed her cheek into it.

“I will _always_ be your daughter, Father, no matter where I go or how I may change. I may be elven, but your blood also runs in my veins and you are my Father.” She regarded him intently, her eyes fierce.

Anders gave her a lopsided smile. “At least you were spared my nose,” he laughed softly.

“Nonsense,” slurred Zevran, sleepily. “Is a very fine nose. Is regal, no?”

“You’re not asleep, Zev, get up and have something to eat?” Vic asked as he cleared the table for their tray, hopeful they could all just get some damned rest.

“I think we should get going as well, I should check in before I call it a night,” Callus said with a yawn. 

“Let’s get you sat down, have dinner, and forget about everything else for now,” declared Marian. “Come along, Master Zevran - Callus, give me a hand?” She was already moving towards the bed, where Zevran was sitting up groggily.

“We just ate, Marian! Dinner is being sent for Master Anders and Zevran!” Callus replied as he went over to help the slighter Antivan elf to his feet. 

“I was talking to Master Zevran,” she shrugged as she helped him guide the sleep-befuddled elf to the table. “Though Maker knows, I could use a glass of wine.” She glanced back at Anders and Ellowynne. “And Wynne still hasn’t eaten - and I dare say needs to.”

Ellowynne glanced around at her. “I don’t think I can face food,” she said uneasily.

Callus glared at Marian for a moment before helping Zevran sit down. He got the door and stepped back as servants set the table and took away the tray Vic had left for them. He sat down and took the wine his sister offered him gratefully. “Papa will be so confused when he comes home.” 

Zevran was running a hand slowly over his face as he attempted to awaken fully; he glanced around at Callus’ words. “I fear my _carissimi_ will not be the only one confused,” he confessed. “Some Crow I would make now, eh?”

Ellowynne had pressed a hand to her forehead, covering her left eye. Anders leaned forward, concerned. 

“Love? You don’t look well,” he murmured.

“Just a headache,” she demurred. “It’s been a long day. I think maybe I just need to go sleep.”

“You’ll feel worse if you don’t eat something before bed, Wynne,” Cal said as he set out a bowl of rice and meat for her. “It will help absorb the wine.”

“Go sit down and try to manage something, love,” said Anders as he nudged her gently.

She rose and made her way to the table, her footsteps a little unsteady. She sat next to Zevran, who gave her a worried look. 

“ _Il mio bambino?_ ” he asked her quietly.

“It’s nothing, _mi Zio_ ,” she replied, equally quietly. He regarded her a little skeptically, but began to eat.

Anders sat back against his pillows and nodded thanks to Invictus for his own food before starting to eat.

Invictus was quiet as he sipped his own drink and watched until they were done eating. He noticed how little Ellowynne had eaten, but he decided not pick a further fight with his step-daughter. “I think I’m ready for bed, and Zevran is about to fall asleep in his plate.” 

As he spoke, Zevran’s head jerked up and he blinked, looking around at them.

Ellowynne rose from her chair. “I need sleep myself,” she replied. Pin rose from her place, Marian a step behind, and they came around the table to each hug her in turn.

“Go lie down, Imp; you look all in,” chided Marian.

“I will,” she nodded. She hugged them back then bent over to hug Zevran, whose head was slowly drooping towards his plate once more. He managed to drowsily pat her with a faint smile. She gave Invictus a brief hug and her father a longer one before stumbling in the direction of her own room.

Marian watched her go with a frown. “There’s something not right, there,” she muttered. “Ah well; goodnight, Messeres Hawke; I need to drag Pin off to bed now.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Pin, but she nodded goodnight to them all and followed her wife from the room.

“I shall take my leave of you as well; see you tomorrow,” Callus said as he left them alone finally. 

Vic was silent as he cleaned up and tugged off his clothes and crawled into bed, exhausted and ready to pass out from the rough day. “Sleep well, loves,” he mumbled before closing his eyes and was soon deep asleep. 

Anders lay awake for some time afterwards, one arm around Zevran who had curled up against him the moment Invictus had nudged him over to the bed and fallen asleep swiftly afterwards. When the Antivan began to twitch and jerk in his sleep, it was Anders who pressed a gentle hand to Zevran’s head and nudged him into a deeper, dreamless sleep with a whisper of magic. Then he lay there, gazing up at the ceiling as Invictus and Zevran slept deeply either side of him.

Sometime near dawn, he finally dropped into a restless, exhausted sleep himself, and the room was silent.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets more than he bargained for, and Fenris finds comfort in visiting Anders.

Fenris hadn’t found Varania after searching all over for her. He gave up and returned to lie awake for a good part of that night, wondering just what she wanted from him. When he finally slept it was to have dreams of his sister taking Dorian instead of Anders, and Zevran dying rather than being found as he’d been in his world. When he did wake up it was to find Dorian and Zevran having breakfast, quietly talking as he’d laid there. Zevran was sitting up in bed, propped up against the pillows, whilst Dorian sat in a chair at the bedside, a sheaf of notes on his knee and a plate of pastries on the bedside table beside him, a cup of coffee balanced precariously beside it next to a bottle of ink. Fenris wondered how often Dorian had dipped his pen in his coffee instead of the ink. 

“Morning, I guess?” Fenris muttered as he made his way to the basin to clean the terrible taste out his mouth. The room was far too bright, and he squinted against the bright sunshine that streamed in through the open window.

“For the past three hours after the dawn, in fact,” replied Dorian as he glanced up briefly from the page of notes he’d been scrawling, between bites of his food. Zevran glanced at Fenris and gave him a wan smile before turning his attention to the bowl of oatmeal he was slowly making his way through. As Josephine had predicted, he was still rather feeling the effects of the poison, and his appetite was very poor it seemed, from a brief comparison of Dorian’s almost-empty plate and the Antivan’s nearly-full bowl.

“Why didn’t you wake me? I’m sure someone is expecting Leto to be working by this time of day,” Fenris asked as he took coffee and sat on the bed. “Though I don’t know that you’d have had success in waking me.”

Dorian pointed with the end of his dip pen at the stack of paperwork balanced precariously on the corner of his desk. “They brought it to you; you’d left word you would be working in my rooms, and they appear to have taken you at your word,” he replied as his eyes returned to the scrawled line of calculations he’d been frowning at.

“I asked him to bring it to me, but he refused,” said Zevran tetchily.

“Quite right too,” replied Dorian without looking up. “You’re not well enough to leave that bed, which means you’re not well enough to be tackling that veritable mountain of paperwork.”

Zevran laid his spoon in his bowl and lay back against the pillows, making a low note of disgust which Fenris thought privately even Cassandra would have been impressed by. “I shall die of boredom by then,” he declared weakly.

“Better boredom than poison,” Fenris remarked as he reached over and took a pastry. “I have to find Varania, she knows I’m not Leto and I’m sure she’s up to something,” he added before snagging another pastry. 

“Hey!” exclaimed Dorian as Fenris filched his breakfast. “ _Venhedis_ \- there is a plate for you on the - oh, for Dumat’s sake,” he groused as he handed Fenris the plate. “There. Happy now?” He glared half-heartedly at the elf. “Anyway, I haven’t seen her around. You think she’ll cause trouble then?”

Fenris’ expression darkened at that. “Depends, what’s her relationship with Leto like and will she try and use this to her advantage? She seemed glad to see me awake when she thought I was him. Anders knew I wasn’t him from the way I walk and talk so I don’t think people are buying our ruse as well as we’d hoped.” 

Zevran and Dorian exchanged a glance in a “will you tell him or shall I?” fashion. “Varania and Leto have been... adversarial, shall we say, ever since she arrived at Skyhold,” said Dorian heavily. “She had been involved with a group of Venatori but turned on them and betrayed them all, delivering a sizeable blow to Corypheus’ forces and doing us a significant favour. The Inquisitor accepted her into our ranks, which caused a blistering row between him and Leto until Vengeance came out and for once, it was Vengeance saying something to Leto which caused _him_ to back down looking shaken, instead of the other way around. Given how Vengeance made his threat against Zevran and I recently, I find myself wondering now if that was truly the first time he’d made such a threat, or whether there was prior precedent.”

“If the threat were against me, then Leto never breathed a word of it,” shrugged Zevran. “But then that was not really the nature of our relationship, and indeed at that point we were merely colleagues within the Inquisition. Things had not yet reached the point yet where he came to the Rookery for anything other than to discuss work, on those rare occasions he visited me then.”

“And we were still at the very early stages of dancing around each other,” reflected Dorian. “I wonder then just what hold it was that Vengeance had over him? Perhaps Anders might know, if you can get any sense out of him. Anyway, Leto backed down, Varania became a member of the Inquisition, and they’ve fought like icily-cordial cat and dog ever since. It became worse after Vengeance began to exert more control over Anders; they might have overcome their antipathy, except Varania took over the training of Vulpine and between them I think they rubbed each other up in the worst possible way for Leto. Vulpine blamed her father for her brother’s death, and Varania had always reacted badly to Leto’s opposition to her joining the Inquisition of course, and between them they made common cause against him. Had it been just Vulpine’s grief, or just Varania’s hurt feelings, then Leto might yet have found an accord with either or both of them - but with them both united against him, he sadly had no opportunity to make peace with either of them.” Dorian sighed. “A fact which he often regretted and laments. He has tried to make overtures of a peaceful nature to each of them, of course, but I suspect it was too little, too late.” 

“I see… well, she knows I’m not him, so I wonder what her price will be for not ratting me out?” Fenris looked at his hands as he considered what to say to them as he noticed the lines from his rings were fading out. He missed wearing them but he knew if he did, it would be more of a giveaway than his behavior. 

“In my world, she betrayed me in Kirkwall,” he went on. “She ...was going to give me back to my Master, and Vic convinced me to let her live. We didn’t see or hear from her again until we found her in Tevinter; she’d found our brother who’d had half the lyrium ripped from him to finish making me. She almost killed Zevran and hurt Anders pretty badly. I never found her, but Aeolus has kept tabs on her ever since.” He looked up at them before dashing at his eyes. “You should get a servant in here Dorian, it’s dusty.” 

Dorian had dropped his gaze to the lines of lyrium that swirled all over Fenris’ skin, a look of horror creeping over his face at mention of what had been done to Aeolus to brand that metal instead into Fenris’ flesh. He glanced away, looking nauseated.

“It is likely she will say nothing,” said Zevran quietly. “Now Vengeance is gone, she will fear for her life I think and seek to placate you rather than threaten you directly. She does not know of my present condition, so must fear that I would be set upon her tail if she threatened you, yes? She has always made it clear she was afraid of me, even as she viewed me as being the Inquisitor’s creature and later, Leto’s plaything. They likely _all_ think that now; you have merely made that role one and the same.” He closed his eyes, even that small effort of talking wearying him. 

“I don’t trust that she won’t try to threaten me anyway, not fearing me as she does Leto. I will give her reason to fear me if she does something so foolish.” Fenris looked around the room unsure where his clothes had landed or even what he might have that was clean in Dorian’s rooms. “Where does Leto keep his things? I need a bath and a change of clothes before I deal with her.” 

“Bathroom is through there,” gestured Dorian as he bowed his head over his notes once more. “The wardrobe next to the alcove where your armour is kept contains Leto’s clothes; he generally keeps a fair number of things here, as he’s in my rooms as much as his own these days.” He paused, a frown creasing his brow as a thought suddenly struck him. He glanced to Zevran, then back to Fenris. “You don’t suppose the poisoning attempt upon Zevran might be her little way of removing a threat to her, do you?”

“It was an Antivan poison,” said Zevran irritably. “And Varania lacks the skill or wit to use it or place it herself.”

“And you think she wouldn’t stoop to hiring Crows or other Antivan assassins, _amatus_?” replied Dorian. The Antivan opened one eye and frowned at Dorian.

“If she did, then she is a foolish woman indeed,” he replied. “For the attempt would have started some time ago, to build up to this level in my body - and a raven dispatched from Skyhold would have barely reached Antiva by now even if she had sent it immediately Vengeance was no more. To have Crows here already and working to kill me, she would have had to employ them even whilst we were on the road to Adamant, with no way of knowing if any of us might die there.” He closed his eyes again. “I do not think her so foolish as that - but if she is? Then I shall be certain to remind her why it is never wise to move against me.”

“What if I kill her?” Fenris asked as he rifled through the wardrobe for a change of clothes, each piece making his face twist in disgust. “Who dresses Leto? They have no taste.”

Dorian pulled a face. “Thank you very much for that, Fenris,” he pouted. “ _I_ do, of course! So sorry that I haven’t anything to your personal taste already set by and waiting.” His tone had turned slightly acid as he stared at Fenris for a moment longer, before pulling his chair a little bit closer to Zevran in the bed and bending over his notes once more.

“Dorian,” said Zevran softly without opening his eyes. “He did not mean anything by it, hmm? He was not to know.”

Fenris flinched at his tone and set down the outfit he was holding. “Forgive me Dorian, I’ll think next time before I speak about such things.” He headed into the bath, shut the door and threw up a silence spell so he could let himself be weak while he had some time alone. He didn’t know how it would go with Varania, he’d hurt Dorian and he was ready to just go to his office and work alone for the day so he wouldn’t upset anyone else. 

“I hate it here… I miss you so much Vic,” he said out loud before washing up and hurrying out of the bath. He came out in a towel and nodded to the wardrobe with a shy grin. “Would you help me pick something out?”

Zevran was coughing hard; Dorian glanced over his shoulder at Fenris with a worried look before looking back down at Zevran, rubbing the Antivan’s back as Zevran curled on his side, trying to catch his breath between each spasm.

“It started not long after you left the room,” said Dorian, biting his lip at a particularly ragged breath that Zevran managed to hastily gasp between coughs. “I... I may have said something unkind and he... he was angry at me, and then began coughing. I called for you, but you didn’t answer.” He glanced back at Fenris, and now the look he gave him was accusatory and frightened. “Damn you, why didn’t you answer??”

“I had a silence spell up,” the elf answered quietly as he went gathered up clothes to put on. He remained silent as he dressed and approached the bed so he could check on the other elf. Fenris went to the other side and rested a hand on Zevran’s shoulder to check him over. He could sense how each cough seemed to strain the Antivan’s lungs and tear at his throat painfully, stealing his breath; he could also feel how light-headed Zevran was slowly becoming as he struggled to breathe between coughs. His body was giving up the poison slowly, and it seemed the poison was fighting it almost. The Antivan had overstretched his body’s meagre resources for some reason, and this was the result.

Dorian stared at Fenris anxiously. “Please... you can help him, can’t you?” he pleaded. “He - he can’t breathe like this!”

Fenris glared at him briefly before closing his eyes and concentrating. “I’m doing what I can, but I am even less of a healer than Leto is. He should rest, and have water, and if you have a healer around…” his voice dropped off as he thought of Anders. “Maybe if we stop giving Anders magebane, he can heal again,” Fenris said as he tried to call up wisps to help clear Zevran’s lungs so he could breathe.

Zevran managed to gasp another ragged breath, and then another, his chest heaving with the effort. Blood flecked his lips from where his throat had torn from the violence of his coughing, but as Fenris’ magic continued to flow, the spasm was slowly quelled until the Antivan lay exhausted on the bed, his breathing still hoarse and ragged but no longer coughing.

“Thank you,” said Dorian quietly, chastened. “I...I was frightened he might....” He bowed his head and bit his lip. “It was my fault,” he managed after a moment. “I... said something unkind about you, and he grew angry. He rebuked me, and then began coughing. It... it was my fault.”

“Let him sleep and make sure he gets some kind of soothing tea for his throat,” Fenris said as he fluffed the pillows around Zevran’s head and laid him gently back. “I’m off to find my dear sister. If you absolutely need me, then have a messenger sent only by Josephine to seek me out.” He pulled back and gave Dorian another long look before getting his boots.

Dorian stared anxiously at Zevran as the Antivan lay there exhausted, his eyes closed. “Thank you for healing him,” he said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. He glanced back at Fenris. “And... I’m sorry. That... that shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have lost my temper, only....” 

He closed his eyes and turned away. “Leto let me pick out his clothes,” he said, his voice subdued and wistful. “When he became Commander of the Inquisition, he told me he had neither the time nor the inclination to bother with frippery or tailors. He cared nothing for any of that. He told me to take his measurements and have things made up for him that were suited to the Commander of the Inquisition. So I did. Leto never complained or seemed to find fault, and I... I just assumed he was _happy_ with them. Now I find myself wondering if he was merely tolerating them... if perhaps secretly he despised them.” 

Fenris didn’t look up as he yanked on his boots harder than was necessary. “You seem to forget I’m not him and I had no idea you picked out his clothes so I was not insulting _you_ ,” he sneered before going back to the wardrobe for a leather duster and harness for a staff. He finished dressing before snatching up the staff he despised. “If Zevran takes a turn for the worse, have me found.” With that, he left the magister to do whatever it was he got up to on his own time and headed for Anders’ room. 

Even before he could knock, he heard Anders’ voice. “Come in,” called the mage. As Fenris opened the door, Anders glanced around from where he had evidently just woken up at the table, his head pillowed on his arms. A glance at the bed told Fenris it hadn’t been slept in.

“Couldn’t sleep,” said Anders quietly. “Fell asleep here instead. Silly, really.” He sat up slowly then groaned as his back protested. He glanced at a plate of untouched food near his elbow, then back up at Fenris with a tired smile. “I was hoping you’d come back,” he added. He frowned slightly as he stared at the elf. “Your eyes are red. You’ve been crying.”

“Yeah… guess you’re sharper than others around here,” Fenris admitted as he glanced at the untouched plate. “Hold on a moment.” He stepped out and requested a new plate of food sent for himself while he spoke with the former Inquisitor. “Enough to last a while, I expect to be here some time.” 

He returned to sit with the blond mage, a wan smile on his face. “You can eat what they bring me, it won’t have magebane in it.”

“Thank you,” said Anders sincerely. “You didn’t have to do that. I know people round here would likely prefer me to be either decently dead or else drugged to the eyeballs. I’ll admit I’m curious as to why _you_ don’t, actually. This isn’t your world, after all, so what happens to me really has very little bearing on what you do. Though I’m glad you came back to visit; I... don’t tolerate the silence very well, and no-one has come to see me since your last visit. The guard tends to just slide the plates under the door.” He glanced away. “Like solitary all over again, only without the whips and chains,” he added softly.

“I’ll see about getting the magebane taken out of your food. I...didn’t sleep well and had no chance to bring it up this morning before coming to see you,” Fenris said as he looked around the room. “Dumat, it's so dark in here; don’t you want the drapes open?” 

“They hide the shutters,” replied Anders quietly. “Open them and you’ll see.”

Fenris rose to his feet and threw back the drapes to find he was staring at the bolted closed insides of stout wooden shutters which shut out all of the daylight. Each window he checked, it was the same; wooden shutters covered all of them.

“I prefer to pretend I have the option of letting the light in than to face that and know I don’t,” Anders said softly behind him. “The other candles started to go out last night. These few are all I have left. You... you said you would have more candles sent but... but no-one brought them.”

“I’ll ask them to bring more when the food arrives,” Fenris said as he glared at the shutters. He let his claws extend and he ripped the bolt off and tossed it aside in anger. He went to each window, ripping the bolt clean off until light streamed in. “They don’t have to treat you like an animal, especially now that they know you weren’t in control,” he said as he turned to find Anders staring at him. 

The mage had risen to his feet, his eyes squinting against the light, having grown too used to the darkness; he didn’t flinch or turn away however as he stared at Fenris, blinking as his eyes watered - or were they tears?

“Thank you,” Anders managed hoarsely. “It means a great deal to me that you’ve done that.”

“You’re welcome,” Fenris said as he belatedly felt the splinters he’d gained during his anger-filled destruction. He looked up to see the door open and a servant drop off a platter. 

“Have more candles sent and tweezers, tincture and bandages,” he said as he sat and tried to feel where pieces of wood had sunk in. The servant was gawking at the shutters, now flung wide open, splintered holes where the bolts had been; at first she had been staring at Anders in an accusatory fashion but now she bobbed a curtsey and fled.

“Will you let me heal you?” asked Anders softly. “It would be the least I could do. You have no idea how much I was dreading the last candle going out.” He glanced back at the shutters, at the sunlight streaming in, and a little of the wary tension seemed to have left his slender body.

“Can you?” Fenris asked as he worked a splinter out of his palm. “They’ve been giving you magebane for almost a week.”

Anders smiled faintly. “I’ve been starving myself for almost a week,” he confessed. “Pretty much since I woke up for long enough to realise what they were doing to me. Why do you think I’m not sprawled in a corner puking my guts up? I can _smell_ how much of the stuff is in my food; you don’t spend years in the tower without getting pretty good at spotting something like that. They didn’t even think to give me something reasonably spiced to hide it, either. Like I said before, I may have lost most of my mind but I’m not an idiot. I’d rather be weak from lack of food than weak from puking my guts up all the time. So I’ll warn you now, if I faint or something whilst we talk and I work on your hands, it’s nothing serious, alright? I have the feeling you’re the sort who might worry about something like that.” He gave Fenris a small smile as he moved back to the table.

“Well make sure you eat what I had sent then, I would worry if you fainted,” Fenris said as he watched Anders work surely and quietly. “You’re like my Anders when he’s working,” he said as he felt the last splinter come loose. 

“I don’t know your Anders, but I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Anders with a faint smile then bowed his head and clutched at the table as he went white. “Sorry... dizzy....” he muttered. 

“Eat, and I’ll clean up the mess.” Fenris poured him water from the carafe on his tray, tapping it lightly with a little ice magic to make it a little colder for the other man. He cleaned up as best he could, and took the basket of supplies from the servant before she could properly enter the room.

He sat the basket near the blond and thought for a moment. “What time do they bring you dinner?” he asked suddenly.

Anders paused in the middle of wolfing down the food; he swallowed, then sat back a little. The colour had slowly returned to his face as he ate, though he still looked too pale for Fenris’ liking. “About an hour before sunset,” he replied. “They lock the door immediately afterwards and then no-one is allowed to enter until the following morning when a servant comes to remove it. They lace the water with poppy juice, but I’ve been able to call up ice since the second day - thankfully before I became too badly dehydrated. I feign sleep when she arrives, though it doesn’t seem to matter to her whether I’m in bed, in the chair or here at the table. I actually _was_ asleep until I heard you at the door though; I have had very little energy for the past couple of days - quite normal after starving for a few days though. And after all, there’s not been much worth staying awake for.” He gave Fenris a lopsided smile. “It got rather boring chasing my own mind in circles, wondering when someone would come to put me out of your collective misery or have me made Tranquil, and I think the two redheads got bored of me quite soon after I stopped apparently screaming my head off every time I woke up.”

He glanced back to the food on his plate. “They wouldn’t answer my questions,” he said quietly. “No-one will. It’s solitary all over again, and I don’t even know if I actually did something to deserve it this time or not.” He glanced back up at Fenris again suddenly. “Even _you_ won’t,” he added. “Will I be wasting my breath if I ask again?”

Fenris cast a silence spell before he looked at Anders. “Well, we fought the demon that held you and it was because he’d threatened to hang Zevran. We came ready for a fight, and Vengeance delivered. I think you were brought here because they didn’t know what else to do with you. But I have an idea.” 

“I remember waking up and there was a sword through my heart,” said Anders slowly. “I should have died. I _did_ die. I asked you before, and I’ll ask it again - _why_ didn’t you let me stay dead?” He frowned, blinking rapidly, then looked away. “I was at peace,” he said softly, his voice sounding thick and nasally. “I wasn’t ready to come back - not to _this_ ; I’ve had enough of being locked up, and this time I couldn’t even wish for death because even that had been denied me.”

“Zevran remembers who you were when you joined the Wardens; he wanted you to be free again.” Fenris reached out to take Anders’ hand before he checked himself. “Speaking of freedom, I want to help you get out of here.”

Anders kept his face turned away as his shoulders shook slightly; he lifted a hand to wipe at his face. But after a moment, he drew a slow breath. “Go on,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m listening.”

“I can do something Leto can’t. I can take you out of here, and no one would know until it was far too late. I could come after dinner is served and take you ...even to Nevarra, where our house would be in my world, or just some place I’ve been to before in my world and back here. The question is, can you cast a glamour?” Fenris asked hopefully. 

Anders turned his head; Fenris could see his cheeks were wet. After a moment, he glanced at Fenris, then hesitantly nodded. “Y-yes... I can, though I can’t remember when last I cast one,” he said slowly. “But... it would take more than one meal to fully regain my strength. What little mana I had, I’ve used up healing you. I couldn’t call up anything to even light a candle now. I could probably coax a wisp or two to me, but that’s about it.” He turned to face the elf again. “What are you proposing? You’d - what, come back to me after dark, spirit me away somewhere, abandon me in the dark somewhere in the middle of Nevarra?” He glanced down at the food still left on his plate. “Guess I’d best make the most of this meal then,” he shrugged. “No memories, no food or money, no mana - still, I suspect I’ve been in worse scrapes and come out ahead.” He began rapidly shovelling food into himself as swiftly as he could without actually choking himself.

“It was just an idea, Anders; never mind,” Fenris said quietly as he sat back and let the other man eat quietly. “What do you want then?” he asked after the blond had sat back from practically inhaling his food. 

“No, it’s alright,” said Anders as he shook his head. “I’ll take what I can get, believe me. You brought me back, and I think I’d prefer to be free and alive rather than facing execution or Tranquility. If this is the only way to get out of here? Then I’ll take it, and figure things out as I go along once I’m free. I can’t remember much of my past, but I do remember the tower and escaping it several times.” He regarded Fenris thoughtfully. “The name ‘Zevran’ does ring a vague bell, mind you. Is there any way I could meet him? Maybe seeing him might bring something back.”

“He’s very ill after the takeover. If we wait for you to get your strength back there may be a chance,” Fenris replied, still quiet as he sat there thinking. He gave Anders a sad smile before rising. “I should go find Varania, she was seeking me out and that can’t be good. Depending on how that goes, I’ll come visit later; after all they can’t tell me no on seeing you.” 

Anders nodded. “You seem to be in charge, from how that servant reacted,” he reflected quietly. “Could you order them to stop the magebane?” He lowered his eyes. “I’ll understand if that’s not possible. But I shan’t eat anything I can smell it on, I feel it fair only to warn you. I’d honestly rather starve.”

“I will do that before I see Varania, I’m sure I won’t remember afterward,” Fenris promised before dispelling his silence spell and heading for the door.

“Wait!” said Anders, one hand raised as if to call Fenris back. As the elf glanced at him, Anders looked... anguished? Yes, anguished was the term Fenris would have used. “Please... promise me you’ll come back?” pleaded Anders.

“As long as my talk with Varania doesn’t go poorly, I will return. If things go as I fear, I won’t be good company I’m afraid.” Fenris said before shutting the door. He caught a passing guard to give orders that the magebane was to stop in Anders’ food so he could interrogate him. He also gave orders that Anders was to have more candles and the shutters removed in the room. “I want confirmation that it’s been done sent to me before the dinner bell.”

“Yes, Your Worship!” The guard gave him a salute before hurrying away to obey. 

“Now if I could find Varania, I could get this Void bedamned day done for now.” Fenris muttered under his breath as he headed to the infirmary.

**

Dorian stared at Zevran and sighed inwardly. The Antivan hadn’t moved since slipping into a deep, healing sleep as Fenris had worked to stop the terrible coughing fit, and Dorian didn’t like how pale the elf looked as he lay in Dorian’s bed. Zevran looked vulnerable in a way that Dorian was certain the Crow would hate were he awake.

He set aside his notes and began to pace. He’d said to Fenris several times now that there was something badly wrong here in Skyhold. The white-haired elf had said nothing of setting the mages of the Inquisition to investigate however, and Dorian was beginning to chafe badly at the inaction.

He’d reached an impasse with his notes and research; he needed access to the library, which meant leaving his rooms. It ate at him, knowing that just the other side of his door were the books he needed; being a virtual prisoner in his own rooms was becoming nigh intolerable.

He made his mind up. If Fenris would not begin the investigation of the Rookery and whatever evil affected it, then _he_ damned well would.

He returned to the bedside and stared down at Zevran. The elf slept deeply; he likely would not wake for a few hours now. Dorian gently tucked the covers around him more firmly, then turned away and retrieved his staff from the corner near the door. Slinging it on his back, he tucked a couple of vials of lyrium in a pocket then headed out into the library.

The moment he stepped out into the library he could feel it; the unclean feeling was stronger here. As he headed towards the stairs to the Rookery, the feeling seemed to get stronger.

A guard stepped to block his path to the Rookery. “Can’t let you up there, ser; Ambassador Josephine’s orders,” said the guard apologetically.

“I’m here to investigate,” replied Dorian. “Surely you were there when Inquisitor Leto made the proclamation? He said the Rookery is to be investigated by the Inquisition mages; as the most senior mage present at this time, that means me. Step aside.”

The guards looked at each other uneasily. “Ser -” began the first guard again.

“I’d get out of my way if I were you,” said Dorian in a low, dangerous voice. “Or shall I tell Leto that you’re impeding the investigation?”

The guards backed away uneasily. “Of course not, ser,” said the second guard hastily, unlocking the Rookery door then stepping aside.

“Thank you,” Dorian said testily as he stalked past them.

He made it to the top of the stairs alone, glad his small bluff had paid off. No doubt Fenris would be angry when he discovered what he’d done - but then it seemed _everything_ Dorian said and did at the moment only served to irritate and anger the elf further now. He had no idea where he stood with Fenris; the elf was angry whenever Dorian forgot himself and called him Leto, seeming to take great pains to constantly emphasise that he wasn’t him - and yet he lashed out verbally when Dorian avoided calling him _amatus_. He seemed intensely jealous of how Dorian had fallen for Zevran in spite of himself - even though it was Fenris who had pushed them together, forcing him to open his eyes and truly see the man behind the facade Zevran habitually showed to everyone except Leto. He had pushed Dorian away, then reacted with anger when Dorian had retreated from him.

It had begun the morning of the coup, Dorian reflected as he made his way across the Rookery floor towards the large four-poster bed. Fenris had been cold and distant, brusque with Dorian - calling him Pavus. In the aftermath of the fight, Dorian had been too intent on drawing Anders’ fleeing spirit back into his body and then, afterwards, with the state of Zevran to ponder Fenris’ changed attitude, but looking back upon it Dorian could clearly see that Fenris had begun to grow cold towards him from that morning, even as Zevran had begun to draw closer to him - and bereft of Fenris’ affection, his own Leto’s presence, Dorian had found himself falling for Zevran - though he hadn’t realised it fully until Zevran had nearly fallen from the window. Fenris had already been pulling away at that point, Dorian recalled - insisting he should go. Yet afterwards he had confessed to feeling jealous and shut out.

He halted beside the bed and stared down at it. The bedding was rumpled and smelled a little musty; it had been many days since Zevran had slept there. Dorian glanced over the bed and halted as the dim light from the balcony glinted off something attached to the nearest bedpost. Waving his hand, he called up a globe of magelight and bent closer over the bed.

A heavy metal manacle was attached to a length of chain that was bolted to the bedpost. Dorian hefted the manacle curiously, then tried fitting it around his own wrist. It was tight; he didn’t think he could close it without considerable discomfort. Staring at it, slowly he realised it wasn’t made for a human wrist - but it would fit the slender wrists of an elf. 

An elf such as Zevran.

Feeling his disquiet grow, he crawled onto the bed and checked - yes, there it was; another manacle and chain. He held them in his hands, and noted that they were just far enough apart that they would have held Zevran in the centre of the bed.

He had known that Leto had forced the Antivan to submit to him in bed; had known from the distant screams that the games they had played were often brutal. He had known that Zevran had often been injured during such games; that Leto had healed him afterwards. But to hold in his hands the proof of some of what had gone on in this room....

He made to pull away, but as he held the manacles - one in each hand - and stared down at the spot where Zevran must have lain, he had a brief flash of vision. For a moment he was staring down at Zevran, the elf’s eyes opened wide as he stared through Dorian, mouth open wide in a wordless scream; and then as Dorian hastily dropped the manacles and backed away, the image disappeared. Dorian found his hands were shaking.

“ _Venhedis_ , what kind of magic is this?” he exclaimed to himself as he tried to calm his racing heart. He had seen many things as a necromancer, but this was something he’d never encountered before. As he glanced around the room, he could feel how thin the Veil was here.

And yet... and yet, he sensed this wasn’t the source of the unclean feeling in the rotunda tower; this were merely one point where it had concentrated slightly, but something else must be the focus of the contagion.

He rose from the bed and glanced around, his eye falling on the open door that led directly down to the dungeons below the tower. He had seen the reports of what had been found down there, the atrocities that Zevran had committed at the Inquisitor’s behest. He still found it hard to believe that the Antivan could be capable of such depravities; it seemed more like the activities he would have expected of certain magisters back in his own native Tevinter, not an Antivan Crow. Such evil and senseless slaughter of innocents could serve no purpose to the Inquisition - but he could think of all too many ways in which a magister might use it, and none of them good. It was the kind of activity he would have expected from the Venatori, in fact.

He made his way down the spiral stairs; and the deeper he went, the more palpable the feeling of malevolence and foreboding grew. He reached the bottom and made his way through the entrance room and past the cells until he arrived at the interrogation chamber. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bloodstained table in the centre, and he found himself drawn towards it.

The Veil was at its thinnest here. He could feel the Fade pressing in upon him from all sides; could practically hear the voices of demons on the other side as they clamoured for entrance. He stared down at the bloodstains upon the surface of the table; and as he watched, it seemed that he could see blood welling up from the surface, as though the very wood itself was bleeding. It was growing hard to breathe, the atmosphere grown heavy and oppressive, and he felt himself growing dizzy and light-headed. He reached out to the table to brace himself without thinking.

His hands touched blood. He could see it, feel it beneath his hands, taste it - thick and heavy in the air. He stared down at the blood that pooled upon the table’s surface; it was fresh and warm and it felt unclean against his skin. 

He managed to wrench his gaze away from the horrifying spectacle to turn away - and saw Zevran standing there, staring at him with a terrible empty gaze, his face mask-like and impassive. It were as though he were merely a puppet, an empty vessel for some other intelligence.

“ _Amatus_!” Dorian gasped. “Zevran - what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be -”

Zevran lifted a hand, and Dorian realised he held a knife in his right hand - long, sharp, thin-bladed, like a butcher’s boning knife. It dripped with blood, as did Zevran’s hands; the Antivan was reaching for him with his empty left hand. Dorian tried to back away, but the bloodstained table at his back halted him.

He blinked. He was on his back, Zevran’s hand grasping his hair and yanking his head back, baring his throat. He could feel the cold, keen edge of the knife against his skin; feel it start to press against his flesh as the elf began to draw the knife across his throat.

He screamed.

**

Fenris was frustrated after searching for his _sister_ but she’d either mastered hiding from him due to knowing he wouldn’t have a clue about her habits or she was actually busy as all get out. He didn’t want to return to Dorian’s rooms but all his work had been delivered as he’d slept. He’d get his work, and hide in his office until Dorian was done being mad with him, for now he figured. As he approached the rooms, he noticed the guards straightened up and saluted before he’d gotten close. 

“Have something sent for lunch, I’ll be here for a while then in my office until the evening.” 

The two guards exchanged a look. “Will that be just for yourself then, ser?” asked one.

“Lord Pavus hasn’t yet returned from the Rookery, ser,” added the other.

“Returned from where?” Fenris asked. “When did he leave?”

The two guards exchanged another uneasy look. “About two hours ago, ser?” said the second guard. “He was beginning the investigation you ordered, ser.”

“I see.” Fenris gave them a terse smile as he considered what to do. “Inform Ambassador Montilyet that I’ve gone to check on his progress, and if I’m not back soon that she should send someone to check on us.” 

They both nodded. “By your orders, ser,” said the first guard, saluting before departing.

Fenris slipped into the room to get his armor on and to check on Zevran. He found the elf was sound asleep or maybe unconscious from being healed. “Your new _amatus_ is an idiot, I swear to Mythal,” he said as drew away from the blond. He stared at the elf for a moment before leaving, his thoughts unsettled. 

The elf headed straight up without anyone impeding him, the guards letting him in without question which he wondered about. If Dorian had come in, it seems they should have told him. Fenris made it upstairs, and stopped as he felt how wrong the place felt to him. 

“This feels like Minrathous, only worse,” he said as he checked over the room and noticed the manacles that he’d missed on his previous visits. “I’m definitely killing Leto when I see him again.” 

The warrior ran a couple of fingers over the manacle, intent on ripping them off the bedpost but got a terrible vision that kept him still. Fenris was suddenly seeing Zevran, writhing in pain, whip marks and even blood from where the slighter elf had been bitten….a flash of black leather around his neck as he screamed Leto’s name. He yanked his hand away, almost falling as he backed away from the bed in horror.

“I hope I get home first so I can repay his evil. Maker….” He reached back and felt a box on the Antivan’s desk. It felt familiar, and as he turned he realized why. It was like the box his old master had kept things in to abuse him. Collars, spiked rings too small for anyone’s neck. “This is worse than I thought.” He shoved the box under the desk and stumbled away, almost falling into the open doorway. “Would serve me right for being stupid enough to wander around like this.” 

He stared into the darkness, unsure if he wanted to go down there, but it was the most likely place Dorian must have gone. Fenris made his way slowly down, letting his brands light the way until he found the magister sprawled out on his back, out cold. 

“Dorian?” he asked as approached and gently touched the other man to be sure he was breathing. “Dorian?” 

Dorian was lying on what seemed to be some kind of wooden table; his arms hung limply over the sides, his head hanging over one end, his eyes closed. As Fenris touched him, there was no response at first; and then Dorian stirred slightly, one hand twitching as he gave a faint moan, eyelids fluttering.

“Dorian?” Fenris asked as he started to check him for injuries but found nothing wrong with him. “You’re not hurt, who did this to you?” he asked as he turned the other man over and held him in his arms. 

Dorian groaned. “Zev... Zevran....” he whispered. “Knife....”

“Zevran is in your bed still, he can’t be here.” Fenris pressed a finger to Dorian’s neck to check his pulse, then turned his face toward him to see if he was bruised, or if there was anything that could explain why he was unconscious. “What did you see?”

Dorian managed to open his eyes to stare dazedly up at Fenris. “Blood... blood on the table. Could smell it, feel it on my hands. Dizzy... looked up. Zevran.” He blinked slowly, frowning slightly as he tried to force himself all the way to consciousness. “Zevran... was standing over me, had a knife. Had me on my back... cut....” He put a hand to his throat clumsily and seemed to be feeling for a wound. He blinked again, disoriented. “I... did I hallucinate?” he whispered, confused. “It seemed so real....”

“Yes, Zevran is out cold in your bed. I guess whatever has the Veil so thin it affected you. We… need to seal the dungeon or figure out a way to heal the Veil before it affects anyone else,” Fenris said as he helped Dorian stand up. “Can you walk?”

Dorian clung to Fenris as his legs seemed to refuse to co-operate. “Sorry,” he managed faintly. “Feel very weak. Think... think it was blood magic....”

“Unless someone snuck in, used blood magic and fled it was a hallucination. Come on, I’ll help you back to your room,” Fenris said as he put an arm around the other man and started the long walk up to the Rookery. 

“No,” murmured Dorian as he stumbled up the stairs with Fenris’ assistance. “Zevran. Could see it in his eyes... empty. I’ve seen it before. Fenris, whatever happened in there... it was blood magic. Someone was deliberately trying to rip open the Veil through some foul means, and I suspect Zevran was merely the tool. I think perhaps I had a vision of what one of the victims must have seen - though it felt so real....” He reached his hand up again to touch his throat. He seemed to be slowly reviving, the further away they got from the interrogation chamber. “Fenris, I think Vengeance was trying to open up a rift through the Veil using blood magic. Zevran would have been aware of everything he did, powerless to stop himself. Poor bastard - no wonder he seemed to act like two different people at times; he was trying to keep his sanity intact. I wonder if that was why he let Leto abuse him so?” 

“Considering what I saw and felt when I touched those manacles and the … the box I found, I would say yes,” Fenris said quietly. He fell quiet as he got them up to the Rookery. He slammed and bolted the door shut, wishing he could seal it off for good. “Can you make it down the stairs or do you need help still?”

“I’m not sure,” confessed Dorian. “I still feel dizzy and weak, though not quite as bad as when we were down... down there.” He lifted his head to give Fenris an apologetic look.

“Come on then,” Fenris said as he carefully steered them down the stairs and kept his grip on Dorian until they were back at his rooms. He gave the guard a terse nod as he waited for one of them to open the door. 

Dorian was silent as the guard opened the door then stood back to let them enter; it wasn’t until they were inside and the door closed behind them that he finally spoke. “Fenris... I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I know I shouldn’t have gone up there alone. I was going stir crazy, shut away in here with Zevran so out of it; I just... I just needed to _do_ something.”

Fenris was quiet as he helped the mage sit down, and as he started to take his armor off. He wanted to yell at Dorian, take him to task for being so stupid as to go alone but they’d already fought to start the day. He didn’t know what to say, so he just got out of his armor in silence. 

Dorian sat still in his chair, his head bowed; one hand was still pressed against his throat absently. He gazed at nothing, slowly reliving what he’d seen in his head; finally he began to talk, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have gone up there; not alone. I know that now, and I apologise. I could sense something unclean, and it seemed that no-one else was investigating it. I couldn’t just sit here watching Zevran as he slept, and I’ve hit a blank wall in my research - I needed books. So I went into the library - and then I could feel it.” He was silent for a minute, then shook his head. “I was a fool. I should have gone back to my rooms, but my curiosity got the better of me. It was clear when I reached the Rookery that it wasn’t the source of the contagion, however. So I followed it down to that dungeon. Evidently I’ve gotten far more than I bargained for, and I don’t think I shall sleep at all easily tonight, if that makes you feel better about my having disobeyed you.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow at the disobey remark. “I don’t own you, and you are a grown mage, you don’t have to obey me. I’d prefer if you don’t say such things to me either, I’m no tyrant to have you all fear me.” He poured himself a drink and settled in the spot Zevran usually took in the windowsill, his mind on the terrible things he’d seen his counterpart doing. 

“You told me that neither I nor Zevran were to go to the Rookery,” disagreed Dorian, not raising his head. “And I took it into my own damned fool head to ignore you, and I’ve certainly paid for it now. Dumat - I haven’t seen or felt such malevolence since Minrathous. I thought such experiences were behind me; I certainly didn’t expect to encounter such depravities here in the heart of Skyhold.” He shuddered. “I don’t know what Vengeance’s intent was, but I can only pray that Anders was spared knowledge of what went on down there. It would have taken all of Vengeance’s concentration to cast such blood magic however, if it was so strong as for the residue to draw me into such a vision. I felt - I thought -” Dorian’s voice cracked and he shuddered. “I thought I was dying,” he finally managed to choke. “I - I can still feel it - the knife, my - my blood, pouring out, choking -”

Fenris glanced at him, unsure what to do or say. Or if comfort would even be welcomed if offered. “Vengeance is gone, and Anders is somewhat lucid, though there are gaps in his memory that make it hard for him to tell us what was done while he was caged by the demon. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to send you to sleep, or I would offer that.”

Dorian’s breath was coming in ragged gasps as he fought to control the sense of rising panic. His eyes were closed as he murmured something Fenris couldn’t quite hear beneath his breath before finally he whispered, “Wine - I, I’d like wine,” his eyes opening to stare fixedly at the floor.

Fenris rolled his eyes as he got up and pulled a couple of bottles from the cabinet for Dorian. He pulled the cork out and sat it by the magister before returning to brooding with his own drink. 

Dorian picked up the bottle with a trembling hand, and drank from it, his eyes closed. His face was pale, and he was evidently very badly shaken by what he had seen and experienced. It took him some time to calm himself and for the wine to restore some of the colour to his cheeks before he could finally lift his head and look towards Fenris. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I haven’t experienced anything like that since I fled Tevinter and my father. I was unprepared for any of that, and I’m sorry that you had to deal with me in that state.” He glanced away, and his eyes fell on Zevran, who still lay sleeping, oblivious to what the magister had seen. 

Fenris turned to look at him. “I couldn’t leave you there once I found you, and I had my own nasty shock up there. No apology needed.” He wasn’t sure what to say to the mage, he wasn’t coping with what he’d seen and felt himself. “Aside from wine, what do you need?” 

Dorian set the bottle down carefully; though his hand no longer shook as badly as it had earlier, there was still a marked tremor there. He straightened and glanced up at Fenris. “I don’t know,” he said bleakly. “It’s been years since I was on the receiving end of blood magic, and this wasn’t even targeted at _me_. From your words, I’m guessing you touched one of the manacles then? Yet even that wasn’t as - as _malignant_ as what I felt and saw in that room. I... part of me just wants to get horrendously, black-out drunk so I can be certain I won’t dream of that tonight, but another part just....” He lowered his head and stared at his hands. “I’m feeling rather fragile,” he confessed. “And I’m afraid that you’re still angry with me. And if we start arguing again, I’m afraid it will break me.”

“I figured keeping my mouth shut is safest right now. I don’t know what won’t make you snap at me, and I’m frankly on edge as it is, so I don’t know what to say or do right now,” Fenris admitted before he found his drink rather fascinating.

Dorian’s head jerked up and he stared at Fenris. “Snap at you?” he echoed, bewildered.

“When I made the remark about who dresses Leto, it was just this morning...surely you didn’t forget?” Fenris replied before finishing his drink and getting up for a refill. He hoped that Dorian couldn’t see his hands tremble or hear the clink as he almost dropped the whiskey. 

Dorian watched as Fenris went for another drink, his own forgotten. “No, I didn’t forget,” he said quietly. “It just felt like one more way you’ve rejected me... it seems you cannot resist reminding me at every turn how you are not Leto, and it just feels as if you are denying I could have felt anything for _you_ \- and Dumat take me, but that - it hurts, Fenris. Since the morning of the coup I’ve felt you pushing me away, and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that. You pushed Zevran and I together, then tried to pull away from us both - you repeatedly said you were going to leave us alone together after he nearly fell from the window, and yet you threw that back in my face, as if I’d pushed _you_ away. I found myself apologising for my own selfishness when really, that was your own doing; you were already leaving even before I asked you to close the door.”

He rose to his feet as he continued to stare at Fenris, the words being pulled reluctantly from him, even as he seemed unable to halt their flood. “You act jealous when I call Zevran _amatus_ , and yet you do not pass up a single opportunity to remind me that you are not my _amatus_. You brought Zevran and I together and yet I can feel you glaring at me when I am affectionate with him. It - it feels as though you resent me for loving him. Is... is that the case? Are you angry with me because... because you feel Zevran is yours? I don’t know what I’ve done wrong or what I’ve done to deserve this, but _Venhedis_ \- Fenris, I don’t know where I stand with you anymore.”

The elf felt a flare of white hot rage as Dorian spoke, until he smelled smoke and realized his power was fluctuating with his emotions. He turned to stare at the other man as he tried to control himself. Instead of refilling his glass, he took the whole bottle with him, settling in the windowsill as he stared at his free hand, how the smoke curled around his fingers as he tried to settle his mind. 

“I told you the truth in Leto’s rooms, this place is getting to me. I don’t know if I could tell you why I get so angry when I see you both together. I miss my husband, my Dorian. I’m acutely aware this isn’t where I belong, with each morning here I wonder what is going on at home, if I’ll ever get back or if I’m stuck here. Do I give you both my heart and then have to leave? Do I accept my fate and become Leto in word if not deed, especially if this goes on longer than I’d like?” He started to laugh as he watched a flame come to his hand again. 

“This damned power that’s been unlocked, it’s messing with my head, Dorian. The very power that enslaved me, that hurt me and broke me.... It runs through me as well. I could have saved my Anders, I could have freed myself so much sooner if I’d known. Yes, I do feel jealous because you call him _amatus_ so easily, and you seem surprised at that. I don’t feel this Zevran is mine, not at all but I feel very alone now. Being forced to see that he loves me didn’t help, you know, and I don’t know if it helped _him_. I’m hurting; this place’s darkness is affecting me and the last thing I want is to hurt anyone like Leto has. I simply don’t know what to do, Dorian. I want to be alone, you won’t let me, Zevran didn’t give me any time or warning about showing up, and… I’m rambling because I’m tired, I’m scared and you’ve hurt me as well and I don’t know what to do with that.” Fenris took another drink as he watched the flame dance in his palm.

Dorian’s eyes had been drawn to the smoke and flames that wreathed Fenris’ hand as the outward manifestation of his anger, and he had gone perfectly still, unable to look away from the fire. “How have I hurt you?” he whispered. “You lash out at me verbally, you push me away - how have I hurt you, Fenris? You’ve not even been _there_. You say I won’t let you be alone? I tell you the truth, Fenris - you won’t let me be near you.” He shook his head slowly. “What did I do to you, Fenris?”

“You called me a bastard for that performance I had to put on when I was hurting and in tears. You snapped at me for an offhand remark for fashion of all things. I called you _amatus_ the other night and you haven’t returned that affection. You told me to come here and didn’t warn me that it was so Zevran could tell me he loved me. That was a shock I wasn’t ready for. You keep asking me how I feel and I tell you, I told you I care for you both but that doesn’t seem to register. I’ve slept here last night or did you forget?” Fenris felt a chill as his magic shifted to suit his mood. He felt tears forming but didn’t bother to keep them hidden. “What do you want from me? Just tell me.” 

Dorian had closed his eyes. “You were so caught up in how _you_ felt, you couldn’t see how you were destroying Zevran with your performance,” he breathed. “I was already on edge and if you’d simply _thought_ for just a moment - the clothes were in _my_ room, it should have been clear who picked them, and it was just one more way you showed how you really feel about me. How can I believe you care for me, when at every turn it only seems you show me more and more how you despise me?” He swallowed hard; he was trembling as he stood there, his eyes still closed. “Why did you come for me? Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

Fenris looked to the mage, confused by his remarks. “I don’t despise you and for the last fucking time, I didn’t know you picked his clothes; it was not a slight against you, Dorian,” the elf snarled as he stood and caught himself before he could attack the other man. “I know I was destroying him, I hated it, I was very, very aware but you can’t see that or don’t want to! I was crying because of how I hurt him, but you didn’t even let me apologize to either of you!” Fenris was shouting though he kept away so he didn’t strike the other man, as much as he wanted to.

Dorian flinched as Fenris shouted, his eyes still closed; he turned and fell back into his chair, lifting a hand to his head as he slowly curled in upon himself.

“Get out,” he managed to whisper hoarsely. “Get out, now.”

“No!” Fenris snarled as he sat down and forced himself to calm down, to pull back his magic. “You brought this up, and if I walk out now? It will just get worse, unless you want me gone for good!”

“Leave me be,” breathed Dorian, not looking up. “Please, just... just get out, go!”

“As you wish.” Fenris went into the bedside table for his rings and left. Before he could get too far, he heard sobbing, loud enough that he could hear it as an elf but no one else would unless they came to the door. After that, the elf let nothing stop him as he hurried to Leto’s rooms, dismissed the guards and locked every door before getting a bottle of whiskey and retreating to bed.

Dorian hadn’t been able to hold it back any longer; all the fear, terror and pain, all crowding in upon him at once it seemed with the closing of the door behind Fenris. He’d told Fenris he couldn’t handle another fight, and yet that was what had happened nonetheless, and he was reaching his breaking point. He had feared that Fenris would hit him, but in a way this felt somehow worse. He couldn’t hold back the sobs that rose up to choke him, gasping for breath between each one, miserable and ashamed of his loss of control and yet unable to stop. He curled into a ball in the chair, one hand clawing at his hair as he tried to wrestle his emotions under control, uselessly and in vain.

“Dorian?” Zevran opened his eyes. The shouting had awakened him, but he had been slow to pull himself together enough to open his eyes; it was the magister’s weeping that finally drove him to sit up. “Dorian, what is wrong?”

Dorian was weeping so hard, he seemed unable to hear anything. Zevran managed to throw back his covers and rose to his feet, taking an unsteady step towards the magister. “Dorian, what has happened?” he asked again.

“F-f-f-f-” Dorian was sobbing almost too hard to get words out, gasping for breath. “F-Fen-Fenris, h-he -” 

Zevran straightened and stared out of the window towards Leto’s rooms as Dorian wept.

**

There was a knock at Fenris’ door. Up in his rooms, curled up in his bed, Fenris could hear it; after a moment the knock came again, louder.

He heard it and ignored it, he wasn’t even drunk or hungover but he was in a very dark place that no one deserved to get. He pulled the covers closer and hoped they’d leave him be.

After a while, he heard an odd noise coming from the direction of his door; a quiet scratching, followed by clicks and then the soft click of his door opening, followed a moment later by the sound of it closing again. Booted feet scuffed on the wooden floor of his office below, then he heard the shift and scrape of someone moving a chair.

Fenris thought he should be concerned that someone was in his office but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Instead he got up to get another bottle of liquor and got right under the covers. Hopefully whoever had broken in would realize he was still there and leave.

There was the quiet creak of his chair as whoever it was sat down, and then the light thud of booted feet being put up on his desk. There was a rustle of papers, and then a dry cough followed by a rasp of breath before there was silence below him.

Fenris laid there a long time, not hearing anything other than a cough or the rustle of papers as Zevran seemed to work. He just didn’t care though, and if Dorian showed up he may just punch him in the mouth. He took a few sips of the dark whiskey and laid back down. “Why can’t anyone let me be?” he wondered to himself. 

There was another rasping cough from below, and then Zevran’s voice answered him. “Because you seem to have a remarkable talent for upsetting people almost as much as yourself, _carissimi_ \- and I think that upon this occasion you have excelled yourself.” The Antivan sounded weary; he coughed fitfully, and then there was another rustle of paper.

Fenris snarled before going downstairs and glaring at the elf that had taken over his desk. “Get out. You’re not well and I damn well don’t want Dorian near me or coming to find you. I’ll throw you out myself if I have to.” 

Zevran glanced up from the report he was studying. He was reclining in Fenris’ chair, booted feet up on the corner, the reports all stacked in piles before him on the desk. He regarded Fenris sombrely, then laid the report on one of the piles and rested his hands upon the armrests of the chair. He was far too pale, his eyes looking dull and shadowed; he was clearly too unwell to have left his bed; and yet he still managed a faint ghost of a smile. “You would manhandle a sick man to make a point, eh?” he said quietly. “Dorian will not come. I have made sure of that.”

Fenris glared at him as he forced himself not to bodily put the elf out. “Don’t call me _carissimi_ , I thought we established that when I nearly killed you. I don’t want you in my office, I don’t need you doing the paperwork. I need you to go back to Dorian and let him take care of you. I locked the doors for a reason, which you have have ignored. Just get out...let me alone… please,” he finished.

Zevran’s hand had lifted to the Antivan’s throat to touch the scar as he stared up at Fenris, his smile disappearing. “A slip of the tongue,” he murmured. “But I did promise that I would take care of Leto’s workload; and take care of it, I have done.” He gestured with his other hand at the neat piles. “So this, at least, need not trouble you. Dorian, too, will not trouble you; I left him sleeping. The sedative I gave him will leave him sleeping for a good eight or ten hours at least. For once, someone needed to take care of Dorian, eh? And so I have come, because I think maybe someone needs to take care of _you_.” The faint smile returned, and it seemed sad and wistful. “I am afraid I cannot indulge your request to return. It took enough for me to make it here. So, I think I should warn you that if you set me outside, I think I shall simply sleep there upon your doorstep and still be there come morning.”

“Then I’ll take you back to his room, come back and order the guards to keep you out. Why can’t you just let me alone?” Fenris asked shakily as he fought to stay calm. “I just wanted to be left alone and no one will allow it. It’s worse than home.” He turned away from Zevran as he felt his composure slipping. 

“Am I not allowed to care about you then?” asked Zevran gently. “Do you truly prefer the company of your own misery? I will not speak if you prefer I remain silent, but I am worried about you, _ca-_ ” He checked himself. “Fenris,” he finished.

Fenris stared at him, his eyes reddened, unable to speak. “Care would mean respecting that I locked everyone out so I could be miserable alone.” The elf let his head hit the ladder up to his room and started to cry out of frustration. 

Zevran glanced away, the smile disappearing once more. “No, my friend,” he murmured. “Care is knowing that someone you lo-” he broke off, a look of pain crossing his face as he closed his eyes. “It is recognising when someone perhaps should not be alone,” he whispered. “It is in having been there and not wishing another to face what you have faced. And sometimes, it is in sitting silently with no further expectations of either one of us.”

Fenris glared at Zevran as he caught how he changed it from love to care. “Get out and let me alone. I left Dorian be, and you won’t even get out when asked, you picked the lock and came in anyway. I don’t care about these fucking reports, I don’t care about any of this. All I want is to go home.” 

Zevran opened his eyes and stared up at Fenris. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to distress you further. I have wasted my strength and your time, I fear.” He glanced at the reports and sighed. “It is done,” he murmured, gesturing at the paperwork. “All of it.” He laughed wearily. “And for what? Now that, too, is a thing I have done which has angered you.” He shook his head and sighed. “Zevran Arainai is a fool indeed, no? Go ahead then. Put me out.”

“So you can just go tell Dorian what I’ve done so he can yell at me more? Do what the fuck you want, you’ll do that anyway.” Fenris gave him a last, sad and hurt look before climbing back up to Leto’s rooms and sobbing as he lost the fight to keep himself from going to pieces.

Zevran let his hands rest in his lap as he rested his head against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. He was unutterably weary, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Fenris alone to his misery. He had been in that place too often himself, and it felt wrong to abandon him now, in spite of Fenris’ own words.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ladder as he heard Fenris weeping, and a look of pain crossed his own face. Part of him wanted to go to Fenris, but he knew he scarcely had the strength to even rise from the chair. Climbing the ladder would steal what little reserves of strength he still had left and serve only to anger the other elf more. He closed his eyes and remained where he was, though each choked sob from above tugged painfully at his heart.

Fenris finally cried himself out, and curled up with the bottle of whiskey as he listened for any hint the Antivan had left but he heard nothing. He finished half the bottle before setting it on the floor and closing his eyes. He hoped for sleep but knowing Zevran was downstairs kept him from falling into a deep sleep. 

The sun rising woke him from his restless slumber; he lay there for a while, listening for any sound from below, but heard nothing. After a while he rose and padded over to the ladder on silent feet before he slowly climbed down then looked around.

Zevran was still in his chair, where he had left him the previous night; the Antivan was oblivious to his presence, his eyes closed, his head rolled to one side and his hands limp in his lap. He didn’t stir as Fenris walked across the room to stare down at him.

Fenris gathered the elf up in his arms and teleported back to Dorian’s room so he could deposit the elf in bed and go back to what had become his room and office. He tugged the covers over Zevran and grabbed a change of clothes, and the armor as he prepared to leave. As he turned around, he spied Dorian, slumped in the same chair Fenris had last seen him in. The magister’s eyes were closed, and he had fallen sideways in his chair, one hand trailing down to the floor. A thin rivulet of dried blood had stained the collar of his shirt.

Despite himself, Fenris set his bundle aside and went over to check the magister, unsure when he would have been bleeding. He gently tilted the other man’s face to see where it had come from. There was a fine thin cut upon the side of Dorian’s neck - not deep, but long and shallow; the kind of cut he had seen his own Zevran inflict to apply one of his sedative poisons to some unsuspecting victim. Dorian was deeply unconscious, Fenris’ touch not serving to stir him from his slumber. Fenris found himself hoping - in spite of himself - that Dorian had been dropped into the drugged sleep swiftly enough to have been unaware of the blade after the terrible vision he had experienced.

Fenris sighed as he considered the uncomfortable way Dorian was slumped over and had been for hours. He tried to gently pick him up and set him in the bed before he left them.

As he straightened with Dorian in his arms however, the Tevinter mage stirred and sighed as his eyes slowly drifted open. “Fenris?” he slurred, drowsily.

The elf didn’t reply, he just set Dorian in bed and busied himself with gathering clothes and armor.

Dorian was trying to focus his eyes on the elf. “Fenris, where are you going?” he murmured sleepily. 

“Mythal hates me and so does Andraste,” the elf said to himself before turning to the mage. “Back to the office to do work.” 

“Had the most terrible dream,” sighed Dorian as he shifted slightly in the bed. “Zevran was possessed... tried to cut my throat... then you and I had a blazing row. Awful, really. Couldn’t seem to wake up.”

“Go back to sleep,” Fenris said as he gathered up clothes and decided to leave the armor. He was half dressed, exhausted and hungry, not to mention not having the energy for another round with the magister.

“Couldn’t bear it if we fought like that,” murmured Dorian, his eyes glazed. He blinked at Fenris. “Fenris? You don’t look well... can’t go to work in just your pants, people will talk....”

“I don’t care.” Fenris sniffed as he sat on the windowsill, dropped his head in his hands and sighed. He was kicking himself for caring enough to put Dorian to bed, and now he had to talk to him. Dorian was trying to sit up now, his movements uncoordinated as he looked around.

“Fenris?” The magister managed to push himself upright and started trying to free his legs from the covers. “Something’s wrong... Dumat, why am I so drowsy?”

“I don’t know, I left when you shouted at me to go,” Fenris said tiredly. “Just go back to sleep, you’re exhausted and so am I.”

Dorian glanced up at him and went still. “I didn’t shout, I -” He fell silent, and then lifted one hand slowly to the side of his neck. “I’ve been cut,” he said in a hushed voice, suddenly very much awake. “I... didn’t dream it, did I?”

“I have no idea, you weren’t cut when I left. My only guess is you were sedated by Zevran because you were upset. Just… get it over with and tell me to go again. I only returned because Zevran broke into the office and wouldn’t go, I found him still there this morning. I just want to go back and sleep off all I drank.” Fenris ran his hands over his face as he tried to focus on what the other mage was saying. 

Dorian had risen from the bed and drifted over to the long mirror that hung on his wardrobe door. He turned his head slightly, touching the long thin cut with his fingertips as he studied it, then he let his hand fall as he turned away from his own reflection to sit down at his desk. He leafed through his notes slowly, his eyes still holding a dazed look.

“I think I may know how to send you home,” he said quietly, his voice almost too calm. “I need to make some tests, but I believe my theories to be sound.”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me,” Fenris muttered as he rose and grabbed a change of clothes. “I’ll be in m -, _his_ office,” he said as he let his brands light up.

“Wait - please,” said Dorian quietly, still far too calm.

“For what? I had quite enough of fighting with both of you to last me for a while.” 

“I don’t want to fight,” said Dorian. “I want to apologise.” His eyes were still slightly glazed as he stared down at his notes without seeing them.

“According to you, there’s nothing to apologize for. I was so deep in my own feelings I didn’t care about anyone else, remember?” Fenris said angrily. He was tired and just wanted to go home. 

“Did I?” said Dorian, still in that same voice. “But that doesn’t negate my wish to apologise. I have hurt you. Is there a way I may make amends? I thought the news I may be able to send you home would make you happy.” He turned his head slowly to stare at Fenris, his eyes empty and dazed. “I only wanted to make you happy,” he repeated, softer.

Fenris sat there, fidgeting with his wedding rings, unsure what to do with the other man’s apology. “I’m sure having me gone will make you all much happier. What do you need me to do about going home? No need to apologize Dorian, just tell me what you want.” He gave up saying he wanted to leave because he felt trapped. 

“What do I need you to do?” echoed Dorian, then shook his head. “Nothing - yet. I need to make preparations and tests first.” He rose to his feet slowly, one hand drifting back up to his neck. “I want for nothing, thank you,” he added, before he made his way to the door, stumbling slightly.

“You should lie down, you seem… unwell and in shock,” Fenris said as he watched Dorian. 

“Do I?” said Dorian absently. “I’m fine. I need to perform these tests.” He gave Fenris a faint half-smile as he stood there, swaying slightly, then turned to leave.

“Dorian, you are about to fall down, the tests can wait until you’ve rested,” Fenris said tiredly. He went over to steer the mage back towards the bed. “Get some rest, and revisit this after you’ve had coffee, a bath and more sleep.”

“But you wanted to go home,” protested Dorian faintly, though he didn’t resist as Fenris guided him back to the bed. He halted and stared down at Zevran as the Antivan slept. “He... he cut me,” he whispered. “Fenris... I don’t know what was real, what was a hallucination anymore.” He shivered, then collapsed onto the bed and slowly curled up.

“That’s why you should go to sleep,” Fenris said as he pulled the covers over both of them and finally teleported back to Leto’s rooms so he could bathe and see if Anders would see him. A couple of hours later, an order passed to the guards that Zevran was not allowed in his office for the next week and that he was to be found by Lady Montilyet’s guard only for the remainder of the day had him at Anders’ room again, a tray of food ordered. 

As the guards let him in, he was greeted by the brilliant sunshine that streamed in through the windows, unobstructed now by shutters and the drapes thrown back. Fenris entered to find Anders had fallen asleep in a chair by the window, his arms folded on the windowsill and his head resting upon them as he slept, a breeze from the slightly open window playing over his face and stirring his dark gold hair slightly. He was twisted around in the chair in a way that would surely have him in discomfort when he would wake later, but his face was peaceful in sleep.

“Anders… I’m sorry I didn’t come back last night, things went.... Bad for me,” Fenris said as he shook the blond’s shoulder. 

There was no response for a moment, then Anders’ eyes opened and he blinked at Fenris, a little confused and disoriented before he sat up and winced.

“Oh, ow... Maker, how long was I asleep like that?” he grimaced as he pressed a hand against the small of his back and channelled a little healing there. “You’d think I would at least remember I’m not a cat.” 

He looked up at Fenris and sighed. “And you look terrible,” he went on. “I’m not surprised you didn’t come back, now. I... I thought you might have forgotten me, but I can see you had more important things on your mind.” There was no censure in the mage’s voice; only a calm acceptance. “It’s alright. I’m used to that.”

“Not more important, just… a bad night. Can I visit for a while?” Fenris asked hopefully.

“Of course,” nodded Anders, as though he weren’t a prisoner and had the choice of saying no. “Is there anything I can do? Or I can keep silent if you prefer. Though I probably should warn you I’m pretty bad at that. The keeping silent bit, I mean.”

“It’s ok, you can talk all you like,” Fenris said a bit unsteadily, though he fell quiet as a tray was brought in and he made himself a plate. 

“You made sure I would have something to eat without magebane, didn’t you?” Anders said gratefully. “Thank you. I haven’t dared eat anything since you brought me that last meal.” He gazed at Fenris, and his keen eyes seemed to miss nothing as he frowned slightly. “I don’t mean to pry,” he said gently. “But you seem to have had rather worse than just a bad night. I know there’s probably not a lot I can realistically do, but... I’m a pretty good listener, if you need to talk? You’ve been kind to me, and you seem so distressed.”

Fenris set his plate aside and gave him a sad smile. “Do you really want to hear me whining about how much I want to go home?” 

“Yes,” said Anders in simple sincerity. “Because it’s hurting you. And you need to talk about it, or you wouldn’t have admitted this much to me. I know I’m just an annoying prisoner that no-one can decide what to do with, but... I do care, and I’m here.”

“Eat first, or bring your plate by the fireplace and I’ll sit with you,” Fenris said softly as he watched Anders, and missed his husband so much it almost hurt.

Anders studied his face for a moment then nodded. Taking his plate, he filled it, piling it high before rising to his feet then moving to the fireplace. He sat down, then glanced to Fenris expectantly. 

Fenris sat down between Anders’ feet like he’d done at home, rested his head against the mage’s thigh and started to talk about everything, how he’d wound up there, how he hated it there and how the Veil’s thinness was getting to him. How he’d not really slept well and he felt alone, on edge, all of it came out in a rush until he fell quiet. He turned to look at Anders unsure how he’d respond to all he’d admitted. 

Anders had been eating his food, bolting it down much as he had the previous day as though he feared someone would take it away from him at any moment, but as Fenris talked, his hand slowed down until his fork was held halfway towards his mouth, his food forgotten as he listened, a look of horror gradually crossing his face as he stared down at the elf. Fenris turned to see Anders sitting still, staring at him, his lips slightly parted and his eyes filled with sympathy and horror.

“Maker, that’s... that’s terrible,” he said softly. “No wonder you look like you haven’t slept properly. And yet... you still came to me?” Belatedly he seemed to recall his fork and laid it down. “Fenris, is there anything I can do? Anything at all? You’ve done so much for me, and from what you’ve said, I... I really don’t deserve your kindness. But if there’s anything I can do, then please name it.”

“Just listening has been helpful,” Fenris said as he stared into the fire. “At home, my Anders and I would sit like this, he’d run his fingers through my hair and sometimes I’d fall asleep because I was happy and safe.” 

Anders was silent and still. Then hesitantly, he stretched out a hand and gently carded his fingers through Fenris’ hair. “Like this?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, a little more pressure but like this,” Fenris said as he closed his eyes and pretended for a while he was home again. He knew on some level he shouldn’t be this familiar with this not-Anders but he was feeling lonely after the row with the others. Soon he was was asleep, even snoring softly. 

Anders stared down at the sleeping elf, still trying to take in all that the elf had told him. He knew that Fenris hadn’t told him everything; though he’d alluded to something beneath the Rookery causing the Veil to become thin and he gathered it had something to do with Zevran, Fenris had avoided speaking in detail - to the point that Anders found himself wondering what the elf was hiding. He had become certain that it had something to do with his missing memories, but he had kept silent. Now, as Fenris slept, Anders continued to stroke his hands through the elf’s hair, otherwise holding still so as not to disturb Fenris.

He had a vague idea he’d done this before for another white-haired elf; a half-formed memory of other green eyes and a deep voice that had meant a great deal to him once. He knew he had forgotten even more than the demon had kept hidden from him; things that had been ripped from his memory with the departure of the demon. But enough remained that the elf’s distress had caused an almost physical pang within him, and no force on Thedas could have induced him to move as he sat there, Fenris sleeping peacefully as he stroked his hair. 

“Anders...miss you love,” Fenris mumbled as he fidgeted suddenly. 

“Easy... love,” said Anders softly, then bit his lip as he felt his throat grow tight against threatened tears. It was too unfair, too unjust that Fenris should be trapped in such a terrible, wrong version of his own world, ripped away from his own loves.

Fenris settled down and wrapped an arm around the mage’s leg, falling sound asleep again. 

Anders’ leg had practically fallen asleep as well, perhaps a couple of hours later, but Anders held still, gently carding his fingers through Fenris’ hair even as the light shifted, shadows moving and growing shorter as noon approached then starting to lengthen. His fingers only stilled as there was a noise at the door and then it began to open.

His eyes narrowed as a guard stepped in and looked around; the man laid his hand on the hilt of his sword as he spotted Fenris on the floor by Anders’ feet. 

“Oi - what have you done to the Inquisitor, wretch?” snarled the guard.

“You are not wanted here,” said Anders softly, his voice dangerously quiet. “Get out.”

“Get away from him, abomination!” ordered the guard as he advanced towards Anders and the sleeping elf.

“I warned you,” said Anders, still in that quiet, dangerous voice. 

He lifted his hands and lightning danced across his fingers.

**

Fenris was abruptly woken as he was jerked to the floor, Anders’ leg suddenly no longer supporting him. There were shouts and screams, and he could smell the tang of ozone sharp in the air. From somewhere to his right, he heard Anders cry out and then felt the unmistakable sensation of a templar unleashing a Smite. 

As the elf wakened fully and rolled to his feet, flames already dancing around his fingers, he took in the room at a glance. The table had been smashed, and there were burn marks up the wall near the door that looked like the discharge from a lightning bolt. A Templar had Anders pinned on his stomach, one wrist twisted up painfully behind the mage’s back as the Templar drew his sword, glaring down at the helpless mage. Two other Templars stood nearby with murderous expressions as several guards stood between Fenris and the scene before him; someone in the corner was screaming in pain.

Anders twisted his head around and stared wildly towards Fenris; blood was dripping from his nose and his face was contorted in pain.

“Let him go right now!” Fenris snarled as he called more fire to his hands. “He did not harm me you fool and if you don’t let him up now, I will fry you where you stand!” 

“He’s dangerous, ser!” protested one of the Templars. “He attacked one of the guard without provocation and managed to throw a lightning bolt in spite of the magebane in his food! There’s only one way to deal with a dangerous maleficar like this!” He glanced to the other Templars. “Cut off his head before he can further bewitch the Inquisitor!” he ordered, as the other Templar standing beside them drew his sword.

“Drop that damned sword right now!” Fenris snarled as he let his wings unfurl and approached the templars. “He didn’t hurt me, and that templar probably attacked him first. STAND DOWN!” he bellowed as he stood over Anders to keep them away. 

The templars backed away, darting nervous glances at him then at each other. The one who had had Anders pinned had laid down his sword as he backed off, his hands raised to indicate his surrender. At Fenris’ feet, Anders had slowly curled onto his side, clutching at his shoulder with a soft gasp.

“He attacked a guard without provocation and resisted arrest,” growled the first templar belligerently. “It is the duty of the templars to deal with all dangerous maleficarum! He should have been put to the sword the moment he gave in to his demon, not kept here like this!”

“Are you being insubordinate against me, templar?” Fenris asked quietly, his gaze on the templar that was eager to end Anders. Beneath him, Anders had gone still, staring warily up at Fenris as he clutched at his injured shoulder.

The templars were now all backing away from him slowly, though the belligerent one was still scowling. “Of - of course not, Inquisitor,” the man said gruffly, lowering his own sword though not laying it down as the first one had. All the guards had backed out of the room hastily now, dragging their injured comrade with them.

“Do you want to keep breathing, templar? Or perhaps see your heart before it stops beating?” Fenris asked in that same quiet voice.

“Stand down,” hissed the third templar as they continued to back away from the elf. He laid his sword down hastily then backed away with his hands raised, as the first templar had. The belligerent templar was looking a lot less belligerent and a lot more uncertain of himself now, though the look he gave Anders was one of pure hatred.

“Since you didn’t answer, I guess that’s a no.” Fenris smiled as he phased his hand through the plate armor and straight to the quickly beating heart he felt against his fingers. He turned to the others with that same disturbing grin. “Let this be a lesson that while I can be merciful, I will not tolerate jumping to conclusions.” The elf twisted and yanked the still beating organ out, and watched as the templar fell over. 

“Get this out of here, and get Ambassador Montilyet, NOW!” he snapped. 

Anders flinched slightly as Fenris shouted, but was silent, even when blood from the still-beating heart in Fenris’ fist splashed over his face. He turned his face slightly but said nothing, otherwise holding perfectly still, his eyes closed.

The two other templars had watched the death of their companion in horror; at Fenris’ snapped order, they hastily grabbed the still-warm body of the third templar and dragged it out with them, leaving Fenris alone with Anders.

The elf tossed the cooling heart aside and pulled his wings in so he wouldn’t terrify anyone else that came in. He noticed how still Anders had gone under him. “It’s ok, you can get up now,” he said as he looked around for a wash basin. “You don’t even have a basin to wash up?” 

Anders opened his eyes and slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position then clutched at his injured shoulder as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head in answer to Fenris’ question. “Good job I... I can’t grow a beard t-to save my life, really,” he managed. “N-no way to shave. Usually I just wash with the poppy juice-laced water - cold, but better than nothing.” He glanced at his shoulder. “Bastard nearly dislocated my shoulder,” he muttered.

“Can you heal yourself while I find something to wipe my hands with?” Fenris asked as he wandered around the room to look for a flannel, or something he could scrub the blood off with but came up with nothing. “This is so damned wrong,” he said as he kicked a chair across the room. 

“They laid a Smite on me,” replied Anders as he shook his head then winced, the movement causing a flare of pain in his shoulder. “Drained all my mana.” He glanced slowly up at Fenris, unheeding of the blood in his hair, splashed across his face, or trickling slowly down his face from his nose. “You’re a bit terrifying, you know,” he remarked and attempted to smile. “Rather glad you seem to be on my side.” He blinked, then added, more hesitantly, “You... _are_ on my side... aren’t you?”

“Yes; now that you aren’t possessed you aren’t a danger to them and they should know that,” Fenris said as he turned to see Anders covered in blood. “We’ll get you a hot bath and something clean to wear,” he said as Josephine entered the room, picking her way across to them. 

She frowned as she took in the mess, then studied Anders as he sat there on the floor, still clutching his shoulder and splashed with blood, his hair a dishevelled mess as were his shirt and pants now. She frowned, and Anders hunched in upon himself without thinking then bit back a low cry as his wrenched shoulder protested.

“Inquisitor, what happened here? The templars and guard are claiming that Anders attacked them, yet here I find he seems to be the injured one,” she said as she gestured at Anders. 

“It was self defence,” muttered Anders through gritted teeth. “Not that I expect anyone to believe me.”

“He didn’t attack them; they came in and assumed he had harmed me so they attacked first,” Fenris said, leaving out the minor detail of having been asleep when things started. “He doesn’t even have a basin to wash up in, and the windows were bolted shut until I ripped them off. There’s a difference between keeping him locked up, and treating him like an animal.”

The elf crouched down to try and heal Anders as he waited for Josephine to give him options. 

“I will have him moved to more suitable quarters,” said Josephine. She regarded Anders thoughtfully as the blond mage held still, his eyes closed as Fenris worked on his shoulder. “We have various rooms we might be able to put him in. I presume you prefer to keep him out of the dungeon cells.”

“You may as well just kill me now,” groaned Anders without opening his eyes. “I won’t submit to that, and it would be a death sentence to put me there in any case - the guard will all be just itching to get their hands on me there. Do you want to kill me quickly or slowly? End’s the same either way.”

“You hand pick guards, no templars either. Someplace closer to my rooms if possible. If anyone asks why, it’s because I can’t get information if these fools keep treating him like a dog. Also, no more magebane in his food; I passed the order but I don’t know if anyone took me seriously. Then I am going to my quarters - and unless the Keep is burning down, I want to be left alone until tomorrow morning.” Fenris rose with a wince and helped Anders to his feet. 

“It might take a little while to ready appropriate quarters,” said Josephine thoughtfully. “There are a couple of jail cells in the gate house near your quarters however; we could lock him up there for the time being until -”

“No!” exclaimed Anders as he tried to pull away. He glanced wildly to Fenris. “Please - don’t lock me there, you - you don’t understand, not there, I can’t handle bars -”

“I’ll take him to my rooms; after all, the dread Inquisitor will be the best jailor right?” Fenris said tiredly before looking to Anders then back to Josephine. “I’m going to do something that Leto can’t do, since it’s the only way to really get Anders back to my rooms without dragging him half way through the Keep in chains. Please don’t scream and I will explain later, alright?” 

Josephine regarded him in mild surprise. “You have me curious, Inquisitor,” she said as she tilted her head on one side. “How do you propose to do that? If he is seen walking through the keep like a free man then we will only have all the more trouble on your hands.”

Anders was also staring at him. “Yes, colour me curious as well,” he confessed. “Don’t get me wrong - I’m none too fond of the idea of being paraded about in chains, but I’ll submit to that rather than cause you more trouble or risk another templar attack.”

“It’s nothing bad, but I didn’t want to surprise you,” Fenris said as he slipped an arm around Anders’ waist, lit his brands and disappeared with the blond mage in tow. He reappeared in his office, which was thankfully empty. He double checked all the locks before turning to find Anders retching up his breakfast. The mage was on his knees, his uninjured hand braced against the side of Fenris’ desk as he threw up, before he slumped against the desk and groaned.

“Maker, what _was_ that?” he gasped. His face was pale and he still looked queasy as he blinked up at Fenris. “I’m not so sure I don’t prefer the chains after all....”

“I’m different than Leto, I can use my brands to teleport.” Fenris washed his hands and brought over a bowl of warm water and a flannel so Anders could at least clean himself up. 

“I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of your rug,” Anders said apologetically. “That... that teleportation trick feels like someone flipped my innards round the wrong way then back again. Very disconcerting.” He took the flannel and started washing the blood from his face; his nose appeared to have stopped bleeding.

“Sorry, there wasn’t a chance to warn you,” Fenris said as he took the dirtied water away once Anders was done. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” The elf seemed contrite as he filled a basin with more water and left it for Anders.

“Not to sound ungrateful or anything,” said Anders slowly as he stared up at Fenris. “But what exactly are you going to do with me? Are you going to keep me locked up here now?” He glanced around the room. “This looks like an office, not a cell.”

“No… and I am going to try and figure out a way to get you out of a damn room. There are no competent healers here and once that magebane is out of your system, you’ll be one again. I’ve had to learn on the go, but if anyone’s life was seriously in danger I doubt I could save them. I’ll have to talk to the others but we should be able to find a way. Even if it’s sold as penance for what you did while possessed.” Fenris took his chair, sitting back and trying to relax. 

“If I knew just what exactly it is that I’m supposed to have done whilst possessed, it would be easier to be appropriately penitent about it,” remarked Anders. He had recovered enough to manage to get to his feet and he put the bowl of fresh water on the only empty corner of the desk - which happened to be where Zevran had rested his boots the previous night. As Anders spoke, he stripped off his bloodstained shirt so he could wash up properly.

Fenris kept his gaze averted in case this Anders didn’t like people seeing his scars. He leaned back, closed his eyes and tried to think of a way to get the mage out of the templars’ hands and not in a cell either. He was aware of Anders hesitating as Fenris turned away, and then he heard the splash of water as the blond mage began to wash himself.

After a moment, Fenris realised the splashing sounds had ceased. “I... I hadn’t seen the scar before now,” said Anders quietly; his voice was shaking a little. As Fenris turned in spite of himself, he glanced at the mage to see Anders touching the raw pink scar that split the skin directly over his heart, right through the centre of the old original sword wound. Anders looked shaken as he stared at it.

It looked exactly like the newer scar that bisected his own Anders’ heart, left there by Cole’s knife.

“My own Anders has similar scars, but it was a spirit of… Compassion that heard his pleas that nearly ended his life. I’ll see if I have a shirt for you,” Fenris said quietly as he stared at the bisecting scars. 

Anders looked up at him, looking lost and a little frightened. He lowered his gaze to the scars again, then shuddered before hastily beginning to wash once more, glancing away as though desperately looking anywhere but at the terrible evidence of his unnatural survival.

Fenris went up to his wardrobe and pulled out two shirts, both dark grey. He changed into one and handed off the other to Anders. “Do you want a nap or food?” he asked quietly. 

Anders pulled the shirt on; it hung from his lanky frame, too large for him. It seemed at risk of sliding off his bony shoulders as Anders pulled his damp hair back out of his face. “I think if I try to eat anything, I’ll likely bring it right back up,” he confessed. “I’m exhausted; sleep sounds pretty good right now.” He looked around, staring at the desk, Fenris’ chair and the second chair that sat in front of Fenris’ desk for visitors. There was no obvious place for anyone to so much as nap, much less actually sleep; he glanced back at Fenris.

“The bed is upstairs. I should be down here for whenever Josephine returns to say a space is ready for you. Climb that ladder and a bathtub is there as well,” Fenris told him. 

Anders gazed at him and blinked rapidly, his eyes looking suspiciously bright. “A... a bath tub? And an actual bed?” He swallowed hard. “T-thank you,” he added softly. “I... I was expecting a prison cell and a cold stone floor to sleep on, but you - you’ve treated me like a human being.”

“You are a person Anders, even if the others don’t want to treat you like one.” Fenris gave him a sad smile before he glanced over and saw the mess Anders had made. He didn’t say a word, just dropped his bloodied shirt over the mess and went for a drink. “Sleep well.” 

Anders nodded, then turned and slowly climbed up the ladder; Fenris heard his footsteps overhead, then the soft creak of the bed as the man stretched out. A few minutes later, he heard soft, muffled snores as Anders dropped swiftly into an exhausted sleep.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, settled in for a long wait and uncomfortable talk when he next saw Dorian and Zevran.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellowynne nearly goes too far, and Vic goes for help.

Invictus had slipped out of bed early so he could find someone and not wake either of his husbands, though both men slept so soundly and deeply that he suspected neither man would have noticed him moving around even if he’d made enough noise to waken them normally. He made his way to the College, eager to find a certain red head and have a word with her. He wandered around until he found Parcival’s office and just who he was looking for.

“A word, Varania,” Vic said as he stood close to her. 

Parcival glanced up from the ledger he was working in, and frowned slightly. “Invictus, I know you used to be the First Enchanter here, but it’s usually customary to knock before entering,” he remarked, a trifle testily. “This _has_ been my office for a number of years now, and I would appreciate a little courtesy here please?” 

Invictus didn’t look at his friend, he only had eyes for the woman before him. “I would like a word with your guest researcher Parcival; considering all she’s done to us, she doesn’t get courtesy.” 

“And therefore nor do I?” replied Parcival as he laid his pen aside. “I’ll thank you to remember that Varania is a guest of the College and as such she is under my protection. And regardless of how you may personally feel about her, that does not give you the right to barge in here without so much as a by-your-leave like the rawest young apprentice or the newest Templar recruit.” His tone had sharpened as he spoke, taking on the stern tones the First Enchanter might use on said apprentice or recruit; Invictus found himself responding almost subconsciously to the rebuke as he felt himself growing uncomfortably hot under the collar. As Parcival’s tone hit that precise note Malcolm had used on him so many years ago, the curl of guilt it elicited only served to anger him further.

Invictus turned to glare at Parcival, his own well practiced how dare you expression on. “I will inform you, First Enchanter… _ser_... that this woman nearly killed Anders and Zevran, and has cause no small amount of harm to Fenris. She harmed Anders further and none of us knew she’d been brought here until Aeolus informed Zevran before attacking him. So you can take your protocol and stow it, Parcival.” 

He turned to sneer at the elven woman before him. “You can’t stay in Parcival’s office the entire time you’re here. I will have words with you when you stop hiding behind his protections, Varania!” 

Parcival rose to his feet and fixed Invictus with a cool stare. “You forget yourself, Invictus Hawke,” he said quietly. “You will leave now, and if you dare set foot in this tower above the teaching levels again then I will evict you myself. Do not insult or threaten a guest in my office like this and assume I will tolerate the insult to this College - and do not presume that your age means you have seniority here over any other mage.” His stare sharpened into ice. “Least of all me.”

“I said no such thing about my age, and you would harbor this … viper in your office after I’ve told you what she’s done? I see how things are around here. Good day Par- First Enchanter, _ser_.” Invictus sketched a bow and headed off to find Dorian. 

As the door slammed behind Invictus, Parcival stood stock still for a moment, then he slowly sat down again, aware of Varania’s eyes upon him. He took up his pen once more.

“Please excuse the interruption, Enchanter Varania,” he said after a moment, the pain and distress he felt at the altercation with his former master and mentor showing only in the way he held himself stiffly and a tenseness around his grey eyes. “I shall ensure your work is not interrupted again in such a manner.”

** 

Invictus hoped to find Dorian as he went through the halls but either the other man was still asleep or already at work with the other mages. After his altercation, he wouldn’t set foot in the College if someone paid him, lest he simply kill his dear sister-in-law for having the nerve to be there as if she actually cared about getting Fenris back. 

He was on the verge of giving up and returning back to see if Anders or Zevran were any easier to wake now when he finally came across Dorian and, to his surprise, Ellowynne, sitting in a quiet alcove, half-hidden by a curtain near one of the entrances to the Great Hall. Ellowynne was bent over, rubbing her temples and looking sick, whilst Dorian had an arm around her and was gently rubbing her back. Neither appeared to have seen Invictus as he approached.

“... the Veil so thin, it would explain much,” Dorian was saying quietly. “I think that should you get any more ideas of such investigations, you should leave them to me, however. Anders would be devastated were anything to happen to you, whereas I think you’ll find I’m rather less appealing to demons and altogether more experienced at dealing with such matters - and frankly I pity any demon who took it into its head to go after Leto.”

“Meneris would be furious if anything were to happen to you though,” Ellowynne sniffed. 

“My dear girl, what makes you think I would tell Meneris?” replied Dorian quietly. “What he doesn’t know, he can’t fret about - and I am not so much of a fool as to go investigating a potential tear in the Veil alone.”

“Don’t you dare do something so foolish, either of you. Anders will have kittens and Meneris will go on a tear for days,” Vic said as he sat with them. 

Dorian had glanced up, startled, at the sound of Invictus’ voice, and Ellowynne had jumped.

“Invictus, I think you know me better than that,” chided Dorian with a faint smile. “We’ve dealt with enough rifts and demons that I’m in no hurry to confront them alone, I can assure you. Or to allow Ellowynne to come with me, before you ask,” he added hurriedly. She darted him a rebellious look which he ignored.

“I’ve also known you for years, Dorian; you’d do it and deal with getting forgiven later,” Vic said tiredly. “Is there anything I can do to help? I feel useless and I had to get out of our rooms for a while.” 

“I’d welcome the assistance,” nodded Dorian. “Seems something has shredded the Veil rather nastily in a dungeon far below the rotunda - something about a secret stairway that leads down from the Rookery. Ellowynne feels that something seems to be bleeding over there from Leto’s own Thedas. It might be due to Leto’s presence here, but it would be useful to investigate. If it truly is a weakness between his Thedas and his own, it might be possible to open a portal there between our worlds and bring Fenris back. But I would need to see for myself first - and Ellowynne and Leto picked up on a malevolent feeling there, apparently.” His expression grew sombre. “Wouldn’t do to have dealt with Nightmare only to find ourselves dealing with another, hmm?”

“Have you asked Leto what he felt in the dungeons? I’m not inclined to go down there; after all, we never know what might get to me.” Vic knew he was bitter but that jab from his stepdaughter still hurt. 

“I haven’t,” replied Dorian. “I was planning on speaking to him next, except Ellowynne was in a bit of a mess. That’s what we were doing here, in fact; I found her hiding here and looking about a hair away from fainting and stopped to see what was wrong.”

“It’s just a headache,” insisted Ellowynne as she rubbed her forehead.

“Ellowynne, what happened before Leto found you?” Vic asked suspiciously. 

Ellowynne stared at the ground. “Pretty much what you’re probably thinking happened,” she confessed. “I went to the Rookery alone to try and find out what could be affecting _mi Zio_ so badly. His mood has been so... so down of late; he hides himself away so much, and I was concerned for him. And it’s not like Aeolus to fly off the handle like that so much - much less to the point of attacking someone; and he _knows_ how badly hurt _Zio_ has been. It’s completely out of character. So I went to see what I could feel.”

“It seems she found rather more than she’d bargained for,” said Dorian gently. “Don’t be cross with her, Invictus; her intentions were good, even if she should have known better than to go alone, hmm?”

“Fine….” Vic agreed before leaving them in peace. “I should get back anyway so Anders doesn’t wake up without someone there.” 

“He’s still sleeping?” asked Dorian as he got to his feet then courteously held out a hand to assist Ellowynne to hers. “Well, he _did_ only just survive that -”

Dorian got no further as he stepped out into the hallway, his eyes on Invictus instead of where he was going; at that moment someone accidentally slammed into him heavily as the magister stepped straight into their path. Dorian went down hard onto the flagstones with a low grunt, all the breath knocked from his body as his head hit the ground with an audible crack. He sprawled on the floor, dazed.

“Dorian?” exclaimed a familiar voice, and Invictus caught sight of long red and white hair in braids just a split second before Aeolus glanced to his side and saw Ellowynne and Invictus standing there, half-hidden by the curtain.

“You… how dare you show your face around here?” Invictus said as he helped Dorian up. “You have the nerve to just walk around here?” 

Dorian was pressing a hand to his head dizzily, not entirely taking in what was going on. “Am I bleeding?” he said, distracted. “Oh dear. I think I am....”

“Dumat - Dorian, I am so sorry,” said Aeolus as he backed away, his blue eyes drawn between the bright red blood streaming down Dorian’s face and the fury on Invictus’ face. “ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Aeolus breathed. “Invictus - I swear, this was an accident!”

Ellowynne glared at him over her shoulder as she tried to stem the bleeding from the nasty cut near his hairline Dorian seemed to have sustained when he fell. “Like the way you hurt my Papa Zevran was an accident?” she bit out, furious.

Aeolus went white.

“Yes, let’s talk about that and that viper you brought here! You know she doesn’t care about Fenris at all, but you brought her where she not only gave Anders another bad turn but had the nerve to act like we should be grateful for her presence!” Vic said as flames came to him easily, his attention full on his brother in law. 

“Invictus?” said Dorian, his speech slurred. “Invictus, your hands are on fire....”

Aeolus was backing away, eyes wide. “Anders is ill? _Venhedis_... I never meant that to happen; I never meant _any_ of that to happen!” he exclaimed. “I just want Leto home safe again!”

“I know, Dorian,” Vic said quietly as he advanced on the elf before him. “Oh yes, you didn’t think about the shock he’d get when he found her while looking for the First Enchanter! Or how Zevran would react, but you punched him so hard he’s still laid up! You didn’t mean for this to happen? Well it did, and I’m ready to end you for it!” 

“Dorian?” said Ellowynne, worried. “Dorian - Papa Vic, help me!” she suddenly exclaimed as Dorian went down to his knees. 

People in the Great Hall were beginning to take note of the altercation by the door now, and someone shouted for Meneris as Dorian collapsed.

“Invictus, I swear, I never meant for Anders to be hurt!” pleaded Aeolus as he backed away. “I - I don’t even remember hitting Zevran!”

“We do, and you will pay for it,” Vic snarled as he turned to help Ellowynne. “No one let him leave, someone get me a wet cloth, now!” 

He didn’t look round as a dripping cloth was shoved into his hands; he wiped at Dorian’s face until he found where the cut was. 

“Wynne, please work on healing this cut and I’ll keep his head up. Damned head wounds bleed so much,” Vic said as he folded the cloth to dab more blood off the other mage’s face. He could hear Meneris’ voice now, the elf demanding to know what was going on, Aeolus still protesting, and then the sound of a heavy metal fist connecting with flesh with a dull thud as Meneris snarled in fury. Ellowynne was bent over Dorian, working on healing the concussed mage even as a brilliant flash of light briefly lit up the hall and Meneris’ bellow of rage told Invictus that Aeolus had fled. 

“Good luck getting someone to heal his face,” Vic said as he joined Ellowynne in healing his friend. “You _would_ get your bell rung by an accident,” he fussed at the disoriented, half-conscious necromancer.

“Arrest Aeolus the moment he has the nerve to show his face around here!” Meneris ordered as he took Dorian’s hands in his. “What happened?”

“What hit me?” murmured Dorian dazedly as he opened his eyes to find Meneris kneeling over him, Ellowynne there beside him, her hand laid gently upon his forehead. “Ohhhh... I have the mother of all headaches,” he groaned.

“Aeolus hit you,” Ellowynne said, her tone distant as she concentrated on healing the head wound. “And then Meneris hit Aeolus.”

“I hope I broke his smug face,” Meneris said as he pressed a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “Let’s get you to our room, love, ok?” He looked up to Invictus with a grim smile. “Is a portal a bad idea or the fastest way to get him up to our rooms?”

“A portal would be bad since he got a concussion. I’ll have a stretcher sent and help bring him up,” Vic replied as he turned to see everyone staring at them. 

“Go back to your business! Someone get to the infirmary and ask for a stretcher!” he said to a guard that seemed frozen. She jumped, then snapped to attention. “Yes, ser!” she nodded and sprinted off.

“I think I have had enough of this,” said Ellowynne darkly. “Aeolus has gone too far. My father, Papa Zevran, now Dorian?” She rose to her feet, her own hands wreathed in flames as she stared at the patch of blood on the ground where Aeolus had staggered from the impact of Meneris’ fist.

“Ellowynne, stand down. I owe him a beating as much as you do. First, let’s get Dorian taken care of then we make a plan to confront him. If he just teleported off, we have no way of knowing where he went anyway,” Vic said tiredly. 

She bent down and touched a finger to the blood then straightened as she rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. “I can find him,” she said quietly. The flamed around her hands had died; now, she lifted her free hand without looking and summoned a wisp to it. She extended her bloodied finger to the wisp. 

“Find it,” she said softly. The wisp drifted around the blood, buzzing against it as its soft white light took on a red-tinged hue; then abruptly it winked out.

“There is nowhere he can go that I cannot follow,” she said darkly.

“Stop it right now, Wynne, that’s… too close to what templars do to track mages!” Vic said as he backed away from his stepdaughter and shuddered. 

“You think I don’t know that?” she challenged Invictus. “I grew up in the Circle, Papa Vic. They took my blood when I was an infant, before I could ever suckle at my mother’s breast! It was Zevran who destroyed my phylactery. Yes, I know what templars do. Why should I not do the same?” She glared at him. “He has hurt Zevran, he might have killed him! My father almost died a week ago, and he might have put my father right into his grave! Now he has hurt Doran as well - tell me, Papa Vic, why I shouldn’t use every tool at my disposal to hunt this dog down before he can hurt anyone else?” Her eyes were flashing angrily. 

“Alright, alright. I’m too tired to argue with you right now,” Vic said as he moved aside for the stretcher. He didn’t like how Ellowynne was acting but he just wanted to lie down though it was barely noon. 

**

Aeolus staggered as the Rookery appeared around him. He was disoriented, in pain; he couldn’t see out of his left eye and he was bleeding. He lifted a trembling hand to his face as it throbbed and ached, but stopped himself from touching it. 

He looked around, wondering where the Antivan elf were. He’d come with some half-formed idea of apologising to Zevran; he was filled with guilt and remorse for the way he’d lashed out at him. No matter how angry Aeolus felt over the way that his brother’s mirror self seemed to be always hanging around Zevran like a bad smell, it hadn’t been Zevran’s fault and he was at a loss to explain why he’d been taking his anger out on the blond elf. Perhaps it had been subconscious awareness that he would come off worse in any confrontation with Leto, but that didn’t justify what he’d done to Zevran.

He approached the bed, staggering a little as the vision in his good eye swam; he pushed himself on, catching himself by bracing a hand against the upright post of the bed as he searched the bed with what remained of his vision. Zevran’s knife was still embedded in the wooden post.

The bed was empty; wherever Zevran were recovering, evidently it wasn’t here. Aeolus made his way around the bed to stare at the empty pillow, then reached out a hand to feel if there were any warmth to tell him if Zevran had been there recently.

A flash of vision - the sound of hoarse, ragged breathing. Zevran, stretched out on his back, heavy manacles and chains holding him spread-eagled upon the bed. The Antivan’s eyes wide in shock, his body trembling, terrible wounds criss-crossing his body from whips, savage bite wounds in his shoulders, bruises across his face and ribs. 

“Zevran!” gasped Aeolus as he reached for the elf; and then he had fallen onto the bed and he was alone, no sign of the elf, chains or manacles - nothing save the scent of the soap Zevran customarily used, the hint of knife oil, and some exotic spice that Aeolus couldn’t quite identify. And the musty smell of a bed that had not been slept in for a while. Wherever Zevran had been sleeping, it wasn’t here.

He pushed himself up, and stared at the patches of fresh blood that were soaking into the bed covers where he’d fallen. He lifted a shaky hand to the throbbing pain in his face and swallowed against nausea as he felt broken bone shift beneath his fingers.

There was a mirror standing in the corner of the room near a wardrobe. Aeolus got to his feet and slowly, reluctantly approached it. He halted as he stared at the ruin that Meneris’ silverite fist had left of his face. He probed his cheek and winced; evidently his cheek was broken, and his nose was still bleeding. But the worst damage was to his left eye. As he stared out of his right, he finally realised why he couldn’t see out of his left eye.

He couldn’t open it... because there was no eye left to open.

He shuddered, and turned away with a hoarse cry. He cast around the room with his blurring vision. He could just about make out a slightly-open door, half-hidden behind a drape, that he didn’t remember seeing on previous visits to the Rookery. In lieu of anywhere else to go, he stumbled towards it. Staring at the spiral staircase that led down into the darkness, he stumbled forward towards it.

They would be looking for him. Meneris, Invictus, Ellowynne; they were all so furious with him and he couldn’t fault them. But he was bleeding, half-blind, disoriented, in pain; all he knew was that he needed to get away, lie low, try to catch his breath, heal, try to work out why any of this were happening.

He headed down.

**

Leto had woken up in a dark mood. He’d had enough of people, and Anders’ comment hadn’t helped his composure any. The elf had stayed in bed when he realized he had no reason to get up, except he was bored and lonely if he was honest. He decided to check on Zevran in case the elf had gone back to his nest, and failing that he’d call on the quartermaster for supplies.

“I shouldn’t have had that last whiskey… damn,” Leto said as he forced himself up and to the Rookery, a frown on his face as he noticed the fresh splashes of blood, and the door he knew he’d shut. “Dumat, tell me that girl hasn’t gone back down there.”

Leto noticed more blood and hoped no one had tried those stairs if they were bleeding so much, but he caught a flash of red and white hair as he peeked in. “What is he up to?” he asked as he headed down the stairs to see what Aeolus was up to. 

“You can’t leave well enough alone can you?” he asked the elf, not realizing how Aeolus was struggling as he finally got down the stairs. The tattooed elf’s breath was coming in hoarse, ragged gasps, and he was leaning against the wall heavily as he staggered down, his hands braced on the wall and the central post of the stairs. He halted at the sound of Leto’s voice, then slowly turned his ruined face back towards Leto.

The left eye was gone. Something incredibly hard had slammed into the elf’s face, and as he stared at the damage Leto could only wonder that Aeolus were even still upright and capable of moving. His left cheek and the orbital socket around where the eye had been was bruised and lacerated, swollen purple and black. Blood still ran from the elf’s broken nose, and his remaining right eye was dazed with pain and shock as Aeolus slumped against the wall, in danger of falling the rest of the way down the stairs.

“Jus’... jus’ leave me,” Aeolus slurred. “I’ve done enough. Jus’... jus’ wan’ stay away from you all....”

“Hey now… something or someone beat you pretty soundly. Let me check,” Leto said as he approached the other elf and caught him just as he started to tumble down the last steps. He tilted Aeolus’ head, sucking in a breath at how his face looked. “What hit you? Dumat, it must have been a maul or something.” He frowned as he knew he couldn’t do anything for the other elf’s eye and despite how he’d been treated, he couldn’t leave him like that. 

“This is going to hurt, not as much as you hurt now but I’m not a great healer,” Leto said as he laid a hand over the other man’s face and tried to figure out his injuries. He could feel that the bone around where Aeolus’ eye had been was broken, as was the elf’s cheek in several places. The tissues were swollen, badly bruised, the skin split apart in several places, and the elf was concussed badly. He could feel bruising at the back of Aeolus’ head and a crack in the skull there; whatever had hit the elf’s face had evidently slammed him into a hard surface - a wall, perhaps. His nose was broken as well; all in all, Aeolus was a mess, and Leto figured his initial guess of a maul to the face was accurate.

As he started to work, Aeolus gave a low groan of pain and began to slump down; Leto followed him down as Aeolus sprawled on the stairs, until Leto were crouched over him, his hand still pressed to the ruin of Aeolus’ face as he worked to heal the damage as much as he could.

Beyond the occasional grunt or gasped breath, Aeolus was silent as Leto worked; after a while his remaining good eye slowly opened to blink dazedly up at Leto.

“Why... why are you healing me?” Aeolus finally managed to get out. 

“Despite you being an utter asshole to me, I figure Fenris might like his brother to still be alive whenever he gets back home,” Leto said quietly before frowning as he tried to heal another fracture he found. “Who finally beat you?” 

“Meneris,” Aeolus replied quietly. “I accidentally ran into Dorian - knocked him off his feet. Complete accident. Meneris hit me with that damn metal arm of his. Can’t see out of my left eye; think it’s... gone.”

Leto opened his eyes and glanced down. “I think you’re right, how hard did he hit you?” he asked quietly. “Close it so you don’t get anything in the socket, the last thing you need is an infection in there.” 

“Hard enough to bounce my head off the wall,” murmured Aeolus as he obediently closed his bruised eyelid. “Think I blacked out for a second, was seeing stars. Just teleported out with no real idea of where I was going; probably lucky I didn’t put myself right into a stone wall or something.”

“Teleport? Dorian has mentioned that to me as well, but I can’t do that,” Leto murmured as he worked. He wasn’t sure what else he could do for Aeolus, nor why he hadn’t just let him go but he didn’t want the other elf dead. “I shouldn’t have healed you, not after the warm reception you gave me; normally I wouldn’t have. Guess this place has changed me,” he said as he pulled his hand away finally. 

“I’m sorry for that,” Aeolus said quietly. “I owe you an apology as well as Zevran. I can’t even really explain _why_ I was like that. I just... I saw you there in bed with Zevran and... when I realised you weren’t my brother, something just seemed to snap inside. It didn’t seem to matter that I was frightening Zevran - and now I look back on it, I can _see_ that he was afraid. And after we’d sat vigil waiting for my brother as well... Dumat, what has been wrong with me?”

“This room, the Rookery… it’s evil. Once you can move we need to get out of here. My skin is crawling and I .…” Leto forced himself not to show how unsettled he was by the vile magic he could feel around them. “We need to get out of here and the Inquisitor needs to seal these rooms off until someone can cleanse them.” 

“Just need a -” Aeolus broke off as a small, glowing red light suddenly appeared and slowly hovered in front of him before slowly bobbing around his head. “What the... what is that?” he said slowly as the blood wisp bobbed closer. Then it whisked away as though it had never been there at all. He glanced up at Leto with his good eye. “Did you see that?”

“Yes but I have no idea what it was,” Leto said as he carefully stood and helped Aeolus to his feet. “Can you make it up the stairs if I help, or can you teleport us out of here?” he asked warily.

“Not sure just how I was capable of teleporting in the first place, truth be told,” Aeolus confessed. “Not in the state I was in, anyway.” He was about to say something else when there was the sudden crack of a portal opening in one of the rooms below. Both men could feel the massive discharge of mana as the portal snapped into being then dissipated; Leto was unsurprised to find that both his and Aeolus’ brands had lit up in reaction, and he suddenly realised there was lyrium beneath the black tattoos that wound their way over one half of the other elf’s body that covered terrible scars - as though Aeolus had been branded with lyrium much as he and Fenris had been, then half had been ripped out again. On the tattooed side, beneath those tattooed scars, lyrium flickered fitfully - not as strongly or evenly as on the branded side, but enough to glow through the black ink.

“Aeolus....” hissed a voice from below, and Aeolus’ brands flickered and died as he turned and looked back down the stairs.

Leto turned around and saw Ellowynne and felt a frisson of fear go up his spine at how angry the young woman was. He could also feel her power from where they had halted, he felt his own rise in response to hers. “Ellowynne… can you open a portal and get us out please? This place … you know how evil it is,” he asked quietly. 

She began to slowly walk up the stairs, her eyes fixed on Aeolus. Fire danced on her upturned palms and flickered in her amber eyes as she glared at the tattooed elf. “Aeolus, there is no place you can go that I cannot follow,” she declared. “You have gone too far. My father, my _Zio_ , and now Dorian. All innocent, and yet you would seek to make an end of them all!”

Wordlessly, Aeolus shook his head, backing away slowly as she climbed the stairs towards them.

“Blood for blood, Aeolus,” she hissed. Power danced and crackled in the air around her, her blonde hair lifting with it; she had a wild and fey look about her. She gestured, and suddenly to Leto’s horror the blood that Aeolus had lost was rising from the stone steps, swirling about them in a fine mist.

“No! Ellowynne, don’t do this. Imagine what it will do to your father to know you resorted to Blood Magic? What your uncle Fenris will think after what he’s suffered in Tevinter… what you felt and saw down here! Do you want to be no better than a magister? I have no love for him but don’t do this, there’s no coming back once you do this!” Leto pleaded with her.

She turned her head to stare through Leto, the amber darkening to a demonic red. “He tried to kill Zevran,” she hissed. “My father might have died from that shock. Now he has harmed Dorian. How many others must be hurt before someone puts him down, like the rabid dog he is?” She took another step towards them. “I will not stand by and watch him hurt anyone else. I will not permit Invictus to be next. Or anyone else.” She took another step towards them. “Why do you protect him?”

“I’m not protecting him! I don’t want you to become a maleficar. Ellowynne, please don’t do this, I am begging you. This dungeon is evil, you can’t let this get to you. Remember the Veil is thin here!” Leto said as he clutched Aeolus and tried to think of something, fast. 

The blood swirled about them both, a thin snaking ring of blood mist. Ellowynne’s eyes narrowed as she reached for the blade at her hip.

“ _Venhedis_ , no - if she cuts herself -” breathed Aeolus. 

“I’m sorry,” Leto said as he cast a crushing prison like he’d done to Aeolus. He was frozen in place as he watched her struggle against his magic, the blood mist fall as she fought against it.

“Why can’t I do that damn teleportation trick!” he said as he stood there watching her. As she had felt the spell tighten around her, Ellowynne had fought, then struggled, her breath coming faster and more laboured as the spell constricted about her. As he watched, the anger in her eyes was replaced by alarm, and then finally with fear as she desperately tried to gasp for breath that wouldn’t come. It seemed to take far too long until she finally slumped in the spell’s grasp, passing out for lack of breath. Beside him, Aeolus couldn’t take his eyes from the horrible sight, groaning in anguish.

“Let her go!” Aeolus urged him as Ellowynne’s eyes rolled back and her breath stilled. “Let her go, quickly!”

Leto dispelled the cage, and she dropped to the floor in a huddle. After propping Aeolus up, he ran over to get her in his arms. “Can you teach me how to teleport? She needs the infirmary and… I can’t carry both of you,” he asked as he looked at her in fear. 

“Yes, but I don’t think we have time now,” said Aeolus as he stared at Ellowynne. “But if you open up your magic to me, I can use that to power a teleport there. If you concentrate, you can feel what it is I do.” He smiled slightly in grim remembrance. “I didn’t really have to even tell my brother how to do it; he teleported the first time without even thinking. It’s like a Fade step, only you can go anywhere you’ve ever been. You step _through_ the Fade - folding it to bring the two points together, according to Dorian. But if I take you both with me, you’ll see what I mean.”

“Ok, I’ll take you to my room,” Leto said warily as he joined the other elf, lit his brands and braced himself for what was coming. He was glad he kept hold of the young woman as he felt a sickening lurch as he was yanked around for what seemed like an age before he realized they were in his rooms. He let Ellowynne down on his bed before sticking his head out of a window and throwing up.

“Sorry, I should have warned you about that bit,” gasped Aeolus as he dropped into a nearby chair. “Catches you like that at first. You get used to it though. You’ll be able to take another person with you fairly easily, but more than one and you’ll need another source of power or risk burning your lyrium out. Worse for me than you, of course; you have a lot more lyrium in your body than I have. Most I ever took was... hmm, four people, with Anders powering the jump. Wasn’t that far, but the pain was almost as bad as being branded in the first place.”

He glanced at Ellowynne, who was stirring slightly, her breathing still rasping and ragged. “This is my fault as well,” he said softly. “ _Venhedis_ \- I would never have dreamed I could ever drive someone to blood magic like that, least of all her. It would kill Anders.”

“She’s going to hate me when she is awake, for thinking I was shielding you,” Leto said as he approached the bed. “I don’t know what’s worse about being here; the trouble I’ve caused, seeing Callus alive and well again, or knowing I have a brother maybe that I likely can’t find in my world. He may be dead for all I know. Vulpine and Varania hate me, you should be grateful you have your brother you know.” 

Aeolus laughed bitterly. “When first Leto and I laid eyes on each other, he wanted to kill me. It was Anders who stood in the way; he was the one who took me under his wing, tried to ease my pain - even though Varania had stabbed him with magebane and he was sick, hurting. He saved my life - and look at how I’ve repaid him since.” He shook his head sadly. “Were Leto here in my world, I would know where he was; I could feel him through my lyrium. Half of mine was ripped from my body by Danarius to make _him_ , but lyrium is a living thing and if I concentrated, I could feel where it was and teleport to him - or he to me. But I can’t feel him. Your lyrium did not come from me. I can affect it - but I couldn’t track you through it.”

Leto looked up at his words. “So … if my brother is alive, I could find him?” he asked before he reached a hand out to Ellowynne to check her for injury. “If I’ve hurt her, Anders will kill me.” 

“You could, yes,” said Aeolus. A little more colour had come into his face. “If he lives. If he’s still in Tevinter, I can tell you where he most likely will be: Minrathous. But I had best warn you - when Anders and Leto found me, I was little more than an animal. Our sister Varania kept me as little more than a pet; she has no ability to heal, and I was in such agony. Danarius had left me to Hadriana, half unmade and mad with pain, and Hadriana was little better as a mistress than Danarius. I don’t think Varania knew what to do with me, but she kept me chained - her own brother. She knew my name but denied it to me. It was Anders who gave me life, but he refused to be my master. If you find your brother, he may be little better than I was.”

“You … still speak with Varania after she did that to you?” Leto asked as he turned and stared down the other elf. “She...she doesn’t care about you, and I doubt she cares for Fenris, why did you bring her here?” 

“I want my brother back,” said Aeolus bleakly. “Varania knows more about portal magic than anyone else save Dorian, and she’s made a greater study of rifts than he has. If anyone can find a way to bring my brother home, it’s likely her. But I trust Dorian and Parcival to keep her under control. I know Fenris will hate me for bringing her here, but... he and I have become estranged recently anyway, through my own stupidity and thoughtlessness. I’m not doing this for me; I’m doing this for Anders. I owe him my life; the least I can do is bring his husband back to him.” 

Aeolus bowed his head. “I keep hurting the ones I care about,” he said quietly. “It’s time I found at least some small way to make restitution for that.” 

“What caused you to be estranged?” Leto asked as he went back to healing, his gaze on the girl next to him, though he was curious as to what could have happened between the two men.

“It was several things,” shrugged Aeolus. “One after another. And not for any good reason either; just... stupid mistakes I made. Flying off the handle, making assumptions, reacting without thinking. Trying to make him talk when he was giving everyone the cold shoulder - which was upsetting everyone, particularly Anders and the children. And then there was the whole business with Arden after Invictus tortured him. Arden had been through more than enough, but... when I learned what they’d done to him, and none of them had even apologised to him, just dragged him around and expected him to put his own hurt and pain aside to help them - knowing he was likely going to die at Adamant, when Arden was my friend and - and -”

Aeolus’ voice had become more choked as he spoke of Arden, and finally he bowed his head and drew a slow, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” he managed. “Arden was my friend, and... and it just struck me anew that he’s gone. That I’ll never see him again.” He glanced up, his eye red. “I’ve lost a friend. I don’t want to lose a brother too. And if he never speaks to me again for involving Varania... at least I’ll know he’s still alive, unlike Arden.”

“Invictus… tortured someone?” Leto asked as he paused in what he was doing. “I heard him yell out of frustration but I didn’t think he’d torture anyone. What is wrong in this world?” 

Aeolus sighed heavily. “Arden was a very sick man in some ways,” he said quietly, his eyes on Ellowynne as she lay there, chest rising and falling slowly. “He was the Hawke from a different Thedas who’d remained behind in the Fade when Nightmare was confronted the first time. Somehow, he stumbled out of a rift in our world and Sebastian, Prince Vael of Starkhaven, found him. I’m sure you must have noticed how much Arden resembled Anders? Well, Sebastian thought he _was_ Anders. Long story short, Arden spent a year in Sebastian’s prison before Vael realised he’d got the wrong man and let him go. That’s when Isabela and I met him. He never really got over it I think, and it led to an altercation with Fenris, Invictus and Zevran in which Anders had a heart attack, Zevran’s leg was broken, and Fenris and Arden had some sort of face to face fight that resulted in Invictus going off the deep end and near enough killing Arden. There was something going on about demon influences and so forth, but I didn’t wait to hear what; I just went off the deep end myself and... _vishante kaffas_ , I made a mess of things as always.”

Ellowynne groaned softly as her eyelids fluttered. “She’s coming round,” said Aeolus quietly. “She’s going to want to kill me.”

“Easy… just wait a moment,” Leto said as he moved away and waited to see what she did before doing anything to defend either of them. 

“Ellowynne, do you remember what happened downstairs?” Leto asked. 

Ellowynne opened her eyes slowly and stared up at the ceiling then slowly around herself. “Where - where am I?” she murmured.

“My rooms… do you remember what happened? That you tried to do...blood magic on Aeolus?” Leto asked as he watched her for any sign she was going to attack again. 

At his words she sat up and stared at him wide-eyed. “No - no, I couldn’t - I, I would never, I -” she stammered, and then she looked around and saw Aeolus sitting in the chair, his head bowed as he stared at the ground, and she went white. “Sweet Andraste,” she breathed. “I... oh Maker. The blood. I was - was going to -” She pressed her hands to her mouth as she stared at Aeolus in horror; for a moment Leto thought she was about to faint. But instead she hunched over and began to cry, sobbing so hard in horror that she could scarcely even breathe.

Aeolus lifted his head and stared at her guiltily. “You see, Leto?” he said softly. “I did this. Poor Ellowynne. I nearly drove her to blood magic, and that would have destroyed her father. I bring only disaster with me everywhere I go. Maybe I should go back to Tevinter when Varania has brought my brother home. If I’d stayed her slave, none of this would have happened.”

“What are you even saying? No, you should not think about that place, you’ll die or become a slave again. Nothing is … Dumat, what has come over you?” Leto asked as he looked between them in horror. “Get yourself together!” 

He approached Ellowynne and opened his arms in case she was willing to be comforted. She was doubled over, weeping brokenly, scarcely aware of him until he was there next to her, and then she fell into his arms, clinging to his tunic as she sobbed.

Aeolus watched her sadly, then shook his head. “That’s just it,” he said helplessly. “I don’t know what’s come over me. Since my brother was dragged away into the wrong Thedas, I’ve felt so off-kilter, so... wrong. Like everything around me is this... distorted version of what I thought I knew. Everything feels so dark and oppressive, and I can’t think straight. I lash out, and now I’ve hurt Zevran - nearly killed him, from what Invictus and Ellowynne said - and by extension harmed Anders. And I have no excuse for it. Losing an eye to Meneris’ fist is... it’s nothing by comparison with what I’ve done.”

“Both of you calm down...which is rich coming from me but falling apart isn’t going to help anyone. I think you both need to sit and be quiet while I get us lunch and you can talk. Can you do that?” Leto asked. 

“Ellowynne,” said Aeolus quietly. “I’m sorry. I truly am. I wish none of this had happened, least of all that I should drive you to blood magic.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ellowynne gasped out. “I - I could feel your blood, and it would have been so easy, I just - I just _knew_ , and - I’m sorry!”

“I understand,” nodded Aeolus. “You were hurting, and you wanted me to hurt too.” He smiled sadly. “Believe me, I know how that feels.” He glanced up at Leto. “I think we’ll be alright soon,” he said quietly, then glanced back to Ellowynne. “Can... can we talk?”

She nodded as she pulled away from Leto. “Y-yes,” she sniffed. “Alright.”

“Can I trust you both while I step out to request food and a very large bottle of whiskey for later?” Leto asked as he stared them down. Aeolus nodded, then glanced to Ellowynne.

“I promise I won’t do anything,” she nodded. “Maker... if this wouldn’t kill my father if I told him, I’d be afraid he might want to kill _me_ if he knew - he’d be so furious!”

“Aeolus?” he asked as he rested a hand on the door handle, not sure he could fully trust the other elf. 

“I’ll be here,” said Aeolus as he stared at Ellowynne. “And I’ll stay right in this chair and I give my word we will do nothing more than talk.”

“Alright...I’ll be back soon.” Leto stepped out and headed to the kitchens, needing the time to clear his head and to let them work things out.

**

It was a sombre group that stood near the infirmary bed.

The healers had clustered around Dorian from the moment he was brought in; Parcival himself had been summoned, and it had been some while later that the First Enchanter had waved his assistants away as he braced himself on the edge of Dorian’s cot and declared that Dorian would be fine after sleep. The magister himself was deeply asleep at that point. 

Parcival lifted his head wearily and glanced around, belatedly noting the presence of Meneris and Invictus. He straightened, pulling his eyes away from Invictus to instead focus on Meneris.

“That was a nasty knock to the head,” he remarked. “Whatever hit him did so with enough force to have cracked the back of his skull when he hit the floor. Thankfully you brought him in straight away. He’ll be fine but he’ll need to sleep off the healing. It doesn’t really matter if that’s here or in your quarters, Meneris, though seeing as he’s here now then perhaps you’d prefer to let him just rest? We can have him moved to a private room.” 

“Alright… please do so and I need to get changed and have something to eat before I come back to sit with him.” He looked at his fist and sneered at the blood on it. “I wish I’d got in more than that one punch.”

“I’ll make up for it, trust me Meneris,” Vic said as he ignored Parcival to stare at his friend. “I’ll stay until you return to sit with him.” 

“I might be a while; why don’t you come with me - I could use the company, and I’m sure Dorian will be fine for a couple of hours while I get cleaned up and we take lunch,” Meneris said with a gentle caress of his husband’s face with his regular hand. 

Parcival stared at the blood and fluids on Meneris’ silverite hand. “Should I expect anyone else to be brought to the infirmary, Meneris?” he inquired. He was trying very hard not to guess what injuries the former Inquisitor must have caused with merely his fist to leave it in such a state and yet leave his opponent still alive.

“Probably, and if there are others who show up in a bloody state let me know so I can finish what I started.” Meneris gave him a terrible smile before heading for the door. He noticed that Vic was still there, gazing at Dorian as if he’d disappear “He’ll be fine Invictus, come on.”

Parcival regarded Meneris with a troubled stare but said nothing, turning away instead to take a damp cloth and start gently cleaning the last traces of Dorian’s blood from the magister’s face and hair.

Vic ignored Parcival as he trotted over to catch up with the former Inquisitor. He was thoughtful as they headed up to their rooms and quiet as he watched Meneris clean off his hands. “As much as we’re angry with Aeolus, I think killing him will hurt Fenris.” 

“The same Fenris that almost walked out of the war room rather than see his brother before Adamant? The same one that had a terrible screaming match with him I only heard due to elven hearing because they had gone off from camp? That one?” Meneris replied.

“Yes, that one. He loves his brother, but they do fight sometimes. Can you imagine how he’d feel upon returning and finding you or I had killed his sibling after the shock of seeing Varania? We don’t know what he’s going through in Leto’s world, he could very well be hurt, imprisoned once they realized he wasn’t Leto...or as much as I don’t want to think about it; what if he’s been killed?” Vic looked down at his rings and tried to banish that thought from his mind. 

It had been a thought that was on his mind far too much, try as he might to avoid it. Days had now become weeks, it seemed, as time passed and still Leto was with them, Fenris somewhere else - and no way of knowing what was happening. He’d seen for himself the unhinged possessed mage that had led the Inquisition in Leto’s world; seen how Leto seemed to keep him barely in check somehow. How would Fenris deal with that demon? He had no way of knowing what hold Leto had on the demon that now possessed and controlled that version of Anders. Leto’s reactions to everything had suggested to Invictus that, dark and dangerous as their own Thedas was, theirs must be far worse. And Fenris had reacted so poorly that one time when they had all found themselves in Arden’s world thanks to their own Anders reacting impulsively that he couldn’t imagine Fenris handling this too well - about as well as Aeolus seemed to be reacting to everything, in fact.

“I … think something is wrong here. Aeolus said he had no memory of hitting Zevran before you clocked him. Zevran has been in a foul mood every time he sleeps in the Rookery...and Ellowynne herself found how thin the Veil is in the dungeons. It's what we were talking about before Dorian ran into Aeolus,” Vic said as he put two and two together. “ _Venhedis_ , I need to get my brother here.”

“That would take too long, but Ser Amell is here remember?” Meneris replied as he came around the screen in a fresh shirt and trousers. “You have that same look Dorian gets when he’s figured out something. Out with it then.”

Invictus started pacing as he thought things over. “Something’s going on down there. The Veil’s thin in a dungeon directly below the Rookery. There’s a hidden stair that goes right the way down there, and Ellowynne it seems took it on herself to go investigate. Whatever is down there is bleeding through strongly enough that it can be felt up in the Rookery - and evidently affecting anyone staying in the Rookery too long. She said the Veil is thinnest in that dungeon though. I’m not sure what’s causing it, but I think we need a templar to cleanse the place. I wouldn’t trust any still around here to have the strength and experience to handle this - but if anyone can it would be my brother.”

“Then get Ser Amell to fetch him and let’s move Leto as well, I think the room he was given was close to the Rookery. It might explain why he was so cold when I last checked on him,” Meneris noted.

“That was your own doing, friend, not the Rookery.” Vic gave him a cheeky grin before heading off to find Ser Amell. “I’ll find you later, I’ve got work to do.”

He seemed to recall that Amell and one of the other Chantry battlemages had come back to Skyhold to work on healing Anders enough to stabilise him, but he hadn’t seen anything of her since he’d spirited Anders out of the infirmary. He figured that the infirmary staff would probably have a good idea where he might find her however - assuming she were still in Skyhold.

One of the healer auxiliary staff greeted him as he arrived back at the infirmary and although she couldn’t tell him where Amell was, she was able to point him in the direction of the guest quarters. Twenty minutes later found him standing outside the door a serving man had pointed out to him as being the room assigned to Ser Amell. It wasn’t far from where Pin’s old room was; if Vic had his bearings right, this was one of the rooms that overlooked the old overgrown Chantry garden.

There was silence for a moment after he knocked at the door, and then he heard Amell’s voice. “It’s open.”

Vic entered, shutting the door behind him softly. “Might I bother you for a small favor, Ser Amell?” 

Rowan Amell was kneeling before a statue of Andraste that sat on a low shelf. She was clad in the simple white shirt and grey pants that she habitually wore beneath her battlemage armour; her long black hair was unbound and she was barefoot, evidently not having expected company. But her smile was welcoming as she rose and turned to greet him.

“Invictus, I was not expecting a visit! Is all well?” she asked as she gestured to a nearby chair. “Please, sit; I have little to offer you I’m afraid but I do have wine?”

“That would be fine, I don’t want to be a bother Rowan,” Vic replied as she gave him wine and joined him. “All is not well, and I could use your help, honestly. I need you ...to get my brother and for both of you to cleanse the Skyhold dungeon, it’s… evil.” 

Rowan’s only expression of surprise was an almost imperceptible widening of her eyes at the use of her first name. “What can you tell me of the nature of this evil?” she asked calmly.

“I can’t tell you honestly but I could _feel_ something wrong and dirty in that room. This is beyond me and I know Anders’ daughter checked into it as well, I’ll find her so you can ask.” Vic looked down in worry. 

“Invictus?” said Rowan gently; when he glanced up, she smiled at him reassuringly. “It will be alright. Knight Commander Hawke is strong in the faith; if there is evil in this dungeon then it will not be able to withstand him. We will put this evil to rest, I swear upon the Chant.”

“I’m grateful for you Rowan, and my brother though if you tell him I said so he’ll never let me forget it.” He gave her a grin before sitting up. “When you are free, can you open a portal so I can get my dear brother and I’ll explain everything to both of you.” 

She gave him an answering grin of her own. “With former Grand Enchanter Anders no longer under my care, I am at somewhat of a loose end,” she shrugged. “I am at your service whenever it is convenient for you, Invictus. In fact, if you would allow me a few minutes to don my armour then we may go now if you wish?”

“Of course, I’ll be in the hall when you’re ready.” Vic went out for her privacy, his head bowed while he considered how to work through things and how he’d deal with Aeolus once Meneris calmed down and the elf showed himself again.

It was a short while before Rowan’s door opened and she beckoned him in again. She was pinning her hair up into a simple bun, rather than take the time to braid her long hair. “The Knight Commander will likely be in his private quarters at prayer - much as I was,” she said as she slid the last pin in place and reached for her staff. “I can take us to a place directly outside his door; it would not be appropriate to arrive inside his room, after all, though I have been there on occasion. Are you ready, Invictus?”

“Yes, lead on,” Vic said as he adjusted his staff and stepped aside so she could open a portal for them. “I just hope he’s in a mood for company.” 

She opened the portal with small, swift yet precise gestures, and despite the gravity of the situation Vic found himself impressed at how she expended just the minimum required amount of mana required to open a portal just large enough for them both to step through together, letting it snap closed directly behind them - an admirable economy of mana, and he idly wondered if that was something she’d learned in the Circle, honed in her time as a Chantry battlemage, or if it were something innate and personal to her. He himself had never particularly bothered to conserve his mana in anything but the loosest of ways, and what he’d seen of Solona’s casting had suggested to him she had been much the same. He could see advantages to Rowan’s way of casting however - particularly amongst frontline battlemages who would be support, medical personnel and also crack troops at a moment’s notice.

He had no time to dwell on such matters however, as Rowan was already knocking smartly at the door they had arrived directly outside, and his brother’s voice could be heard from within bidding them enter. As Rowan had predicted, they found him on bended knee, hands folded, in front of a small statue of Andraste in a small, unadorned room. It bore only a simple cot, a clothes chest, an armour stand and the shelf with the statue, and a small writing desk. It was very much not what Vic had expected.

He waited until Carver had turned to find them in his room, seemingly unsurprised. “Hello Carver, got a minute?” 

Carver rose to his feet and inclined his head. “Rowan. I wasn’t expecting you for a while.” He glanced to Vic. “I trust Anders is recovering, then?”

“Yes, but I’m not here about him. It’s about Skyhold, and how thin the Veil is in the dungeon,” Vic replied. 

Carver frowned. “I see. When was this first noticed?” Rowan glanced to Vic. Carver was turning to the armour stand in the corner and starting to don his armour.

“Since we came back from Adamant. Wynne went to the Rookery and then found stairs none of us knew existed and well.... It’s disturbing down there, brother,” Vic said.

Carver had tugged on the padded jacket he wore beneath plate armour and was now pulling in the breastplate; Rowan stepped to his side to assist him. “Disturbing in what way?” His tone was professional, detached, calm and in control; it was as the Knight Commander he was speaking now, rather than as Carver Hawke, Invictus’ awkward kid brother.

“Like demons were about to step out and grab me any second. Ellowynne would know as well, she found it before I did.” Vic shuddered.

That caused Carver to pause. He turned slowly back towards Vic. “Wait. Anders’ kid? What was a child doing walking around alone down there?” he exclaimed. “She’s only, what, twelve? thirteen?”

Rowan frowned. “No, ser, I would have put her at seventeen at minimum. Very tall young woman, but given her father’s height it is to be expected.”

Carver snorted. “You must be mistaken, Ser Amell,” he said reprovingly. “Wynne’s just a kid. Half-elf, dark gold hair like her father, disturbing propensity for fireballs that get away from her?”

“No, ser,” replied Rowan seriously. “The Ellowynne that Anders referred to as his daughter is a young woman a little taller than I am, full-blood elf by my guess, though she has her father’s eyes and hair. A very accomplished mage who appeared fully in control. A practiced and efficient healer.”

Carver looked to Vic with an expression of confusion. “Vic? What’s going on here?”

“I don’t know Carver, and I wish I did. Things have gone to the Void since we got back with the wrong elf, Anders damn near died and Aeolus has been acting like he’s got a chip on his shoulder with all of us over Fenris,” Vic said.

“Zevran must be going spare if Anders is that ill,” said Carver sympathetically. “I remember how he was in Orlais - Maker, I never want to ever see him in that state again.”

“He is, all of us have been through it, twice. Please just come help, brother,” Vic pleaded. 

Carver nodded. “Amell, go report. Let Knight Lieutenant-Commander Sturm know that I have had to go deal with important business. Tell him he is to let the Divine know and that I will dispatch a raven the moment I have made my initial assessment. Then come join us here again.”

“Yes, ser,” she nodded then headed off to follow his orders. 

Carver waited until she’d gone then continued donning his armour. “OK, Vic, just you and I here now. What in the Void is going on? There’s stuff you weren’t telling me in front of Rowan. Out with it.”

Vic glanced away as he confessed what he’d been told his brother everything Ellowynne had revealed, what had happened and all that they’d been dealing with since Leto had been brought back. He finally glanced up to see Carver’s reaction. Carver was still strapping on armour but the frown on his face had steadily deepened as Vic spoke.

“Vic... I shan’t hide it from you; it rather sounds to me like Anders’ daughter is skirting dangerously close to becoming a maleficar,” he said heavily. “This little wisp trick of hers using Aeolus’ blood? That’s only a step away from using the blood more directly herself. And with what you say about the Veil down in that dungeon... are you certain she hasn’t already crossed that line? It takes powerful blood magic to rend the Veil and thin it in the way you describe.”

“No...she hasn’t. She was just angry about her father and Zev. If you try and bring her in, it will kill Anders. Just… please let’s heal the Veil first and then you can talk to her. I’m already going to pieces and we can’t lose Wynne,” Vic begged. 

“Steady, Vic,” said Carver as he paused halfway through buckling on a vambrace to rest a hand on Vic’s shoulder. “I don’t like the idea of bringing her in any more than you do, Brother, believe me. But she’s walking a dangerous path, and playing around with blood like that isn’t something I can ignore. We’ll investigate this thinness in the Veil, but then I _shall_ be talking to Ellowynne. I’ll do it away from Anders, but I think you should impress on her just how serious this is - and make it clear to her that not complying would be bad for her father. Maybe she’ll consider that, even if she won’t listen to a warning otherwise. But if she’s crossed that line? Then I’m sorry. But you know as well as I do that even the College would not defend a blood mage.”

“Please… don’t. I am begging you. She’s young and was angry on behalf of her father. Do you want to kill Anders for good?” Vic asked as he dropped to his knees and begged.

Carver stared down at him. “Maker’s breath, Vic, don’t do this,” he groaned as he tried to lift his older brother up off the floor. “Of _course_ I don’t want to kill Anders - quite apart from anything else, I’d have to be bloody suicidal because Zevran would bloody gut me where I stand, full armour or no! Look - I can’t make any promises. But I’ll talk to her, alright? Just - get up before Rowan sees you!”

“I’ll do whatever it takes Carver… my family is already falling to pieces, I can’t cope with anything else!” Vic said raggedly. 

Carver stared down at his brother. He hadn’t seen Invictus this distraught since Anders died in his arms. He crouched down in front of Invictus and grasped him on the shoulders. “Vic,” he said softly. “Pull yourself together. Nothing is happening yet, and if it comes to it then I’ll testify on her behalf as to her character myself - but we’re not at that point yet. Don’t borrow trouble needlessly, OK? We’ll come with you to Skyhold, Amell and I will check this out, I’ll throw a few cleanses down and we’ll see what happens. I may not even need to speak to her in any sort of official capacity. Just - just keep it together, alright?” He stared at Invictus worriedly.

“I’m sorry... I’m not ok. I just kept thinking about Fenris and what... What if he’s dead?” Vic rasped before he crawled into his brother’s arms and wept.

Carver knelt on the floor and hugged his brother. “Then we’ll face that if it comes to it,” he said quietly. “But right now, we have to trust he’s OK and do all we can to get him home. It sounds like the College is doing all it can to get him back; all we can do is just deal with this problem with the Veil and keep the rest of you safe. Which is what we’re going to do, alright? You, me and Rowan. We’ll get the Veil sealed, and then Zevran will be safe, and maybe Aeolus will go back to having a normal-sized chip on his shoulder instead of a giant one, hey?”

“I’m sorry .. its all too much right now,” Vic said as he wiped at his face and turned away in embarrassment. “Here I am crying like a kid.”

“Ser, the Knight Lieu-” Amell broke off as she halted in the doorway and stared down at her commanding officer with his brother in his arms. Carver arched one eyebrow at her.

“Shut the door, Amell,” he said quietly. “I don’t want every random recruit in the hall gawping in at us.”

She closed the door then took another step into the room. “Is there anything I can do, ser?” she asked.

“We can drop the formality, Rowan,” sighed Carver. “He’s your cousin as much as you’re mine, after all.” He held Vic close. “How often did you pick me up as a kid when I’d skinned my knee or fallen out of a tree, Vic?” he said quietly. “And I seem to recall I did my fair share of crying when Anders died. You’re not alone, Vic. Sounds like you’ve all been having a bit of a shitty time.”

Rowan knelt down next to them and hesitantly rested a hand on Vic’s back then began to rub it gently. “I’m sorry, Invictus,” she said quietly.

“No need to apologize, I really lost it there I’m sorry.” He sat back on his heels and sniffed. “It’s so hard right now and I feel alone and scared… and you probably don’t want to hear this,” he finished quietly.’

“Why not?” asked Carver. “Because you’re my big brother or some macho bullshit like that? Because that’s what it is. You’re my brother and this is a pretty shitty situation; after Anders went through another heart attack like that and then all this on top and Fenris missing? I’d be even more worried if you were trying to be all stoic about it. And knowing you, you’ve been keeping it all to yourself as well, haven’t you?”

“A bit like his little brother then, you mean?” said Rowan wryly.

“Oh, shut it, you,” retorted Carver, but with a small smile as he said it. From the way Rowan smirked at him, Vic got the impression they were like this a lot, and it reminded him a little of how Carver and Bethany once had been.

“Yeah, I have and now isn’t the time to really get into it. But let’s have a drink when we’re in Skyhold and I’ll tell you,” Vic offered. 

“Are you ready, Carver, or should I give you both a little more time?” asked Rowan. Vic didn’t miss the way they were on first-name terms and it came naturally to them both. It seemed that whilst Vic had his family at Skyhold, his younger brother had found family of a different sort - and one in which they were both comfortable and took comfort, from the sound of things.

“Just give us a little longer, Rowan,” said Carver. “Keep an ear out at the door; I don’t want any interruptions. Maker knows this room is small enough as it is, without anyone else trying to squeeze in here.”

“Thanks Carver, Rowan,” Vic said as he took a seat and tried to settle himself before they headed back. He couldn't’ afford to lose himself again like that in front of the others.

It only took Carver a few more minutes to finish putting on his armour, and then he nodded to Rowan and Vic. “Alright, let’s go,” he said. “Vic?”

“Yeah, let’s go and I hope to Maker things have settled down since I left,” he replied softly. 

Rowan opened the portal once more, and they returned to Skyhold.

“Right,” said Carver as he squared his shoulders. “Show me this thinning in the Veil.”

As one, all three turned towards the rotunda and headed for the stairs to the Rookery.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change of prison for Anders, Zevran has an awakening, and Dorian and Fenris enjoy some alone time.

Anders had been asleep in Fenris’ bed for several hours. Fenris had been through all the work on his desk by this time - not that there was really much for him to do, in truth. Zevran, it seemed, had been true to his word and all the work was done, neatly completed - even Fenris’ signature - as Leto - forged very competently by the Crow. It made Fenris realise that had he chosen to, Zevran could likely run the whole Inquisition very efficiently by himself, and he wondered just how much of Leto’s work the Crow shouldered on a daily basis.

A servant knocked to deliver food, withdrawing silently immediately afterwards with a somewhat nervous expression to leave Fenris in silence once more.

Once Fenris had eaten, he didn’t know what to do with himself while he waited, so he took up his spot in the window with a drink as he pondered his fights with Dorian, how he had gotten so comfortable with Anders and how badly he was doing with things if he was honest with himself. He was deep enough in thought that he didn’t hear Josephine until she had let herself in.

“Inquisitor?” she said quietly, standing just inside the door. “You appear distracted.”

Fenris waved his hand to let the room be silenced before he replied. “You can drop the Inquisitor thing Josie. Anders knew I wasn’t him merely by how I walk and talk. Varania knows I’m not him and at the rate I’m going, soon Dorian and Zevran may reveal the truth. I’m more than distracted, I’m broken.” 

She arched an eyebrow then entered and took the seat in front of his desk. “Had I been an assassin, you were distracted enough that you would have been easy prey,” she remarked. “They would not have waited to see how you walk or talk. And I can assure you that most of the people in Skyhold will see only what they expect to see.”

“Maybe it’s better if I was killed, no?” Fenris replied as he kept his gaze on his drink. “You all would be free of the the dreaded Leto as far as anyone knows; when that bastard returns you can claim he’s a demon and have him killed, freeing Dorian and Zevran for good.” The elf finally looked up at her before asking about Anders’ quarters. “Is there a place ready for him then?” 

Josephine leaned forward in her chair. Ignoring the question about Anders, she frowned with concern at Fenris. “I can assure you that no, it would not be better, Fenris,” she said. “Dorian and Zevran at present enjoy a fair amount of protection from their association with Leto; there are far too many who still distrust Dorian and who feel the only good Tevinter is a dead Tevinter. If Leto were dead, Dorian would likely have to flee soon after. And Zevran would likely be dead shortly thereafter too; he has far too many enemies simply because he is a Crow and the Crow Master at that. There will always be some other assassin house that seeks to become the new Crows, or some hopeful not yet killed who seeks to become Crow Master the same way Zevran did. At present Zevran enjoys the protection of the Inquisition and our resources; if Leto were dead he would lose that protection fairly swiftly.” She shook her head. “No matter how the real Leto treated them, believe me - they would be far better off with him alive than dead. As for Anders, he would not survive more than perhaps an hour after your death if you were to be killed. It is only your protection that keeps him alive. You have had to come to his defence personally already. If you were dead, those three templars would have killed him already.”

“Fine, I get it. I’m more useful alive. I’ll wake Anders so he can be shown his new room and if you wouldn’t mind, make sure he has light, food without magebane, and a … cat,” Fenris replied as he rose and headed to his room. “Anders?”

Anders was sitting up in the bed, and one look at the blond mage told Fenris that Anders had heard every single word of their conversation, and the promise of a cat was far from enough to calm him from what appeared to be a very real panic.

“If you get yourself killed I shall be very put out,” he whispered with a ghastly grin. “Briefly, I imagine. I’m not too keen on the idea of finding myself at the mercy of more templars like those three.” He giggled, but it was high and almost hysterical. “Maker - I have to get out of here; they’re going to kill me, aren’t they?”

“No, not while I am in charge and I’m here. If I have to run? You come with me,” Fenris replied as he passed Anders to do something with the mess his hair had become and to wash his face. “Get ready, you must have heard it all anyway.” 

“I woke up as the door opened,” nodded Anders. “Funny thing about having been on the run so often and having grown up around templars - you learn not to sleep too deeply.” As he got out of the bed, Fenris realised the mage had slept fully dressed, and it occurred to him that this had likely been deliberate rather than Anders having been too tired to bother getting undressed. 

Anders pulled his hair back then glanced around. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could tie my hair back with, do you?” he asked, then darted Fenris a look. “No worries if you don’t,” he added. “It’s just getting in my face at the moment.”

The elf rummaged around until he found a leather strip, and handed it over. “Hopefully that does the trick,” Fenris said before trying to get his own hair together. “I need a haircut or … someone to braid it again,” he finished quietly.

“I could braid it for you,” offered Anders tentatively. He bit his lip as he glanced away and occupied his hands with tying his own hair back. “Am I going to cause trouble for you?” he asked softly. “I appreciate all you’ve been trying to do for me, but I don’t want to jeopardise the safety of this Dorian and Zevran. If my being alive is going to be a problem, then just... use that teleport trick of yours, set me out somewhere, and I’ll disappear and be out of your hair. I can fend for myself, honest.”

“No more than I am causing trouble for myself. It would be nice to have you braid it, I’ll come by tomorrow for that ok?” Fenris replied. 

Anders glanced to him at that. “I guess your Ambassador Montilyet has found somewhere suitable to lock me up again then?” he said gloomily. “Alright. Do I... do I have to wear chains?” He swallowed hard. “I’d... I’d just like to know, is all. It’s not so bad if I know what’s coming.”

“I won’t let you be in chains, I don’t want you to be anyway,” Fenris replied quietly. “After all, if I am supposed to be so damned feared, I should be able to walk you around with just my hands around your wrists.” 

Anders turned and stared at him, then slowly extended his hands, crossed at the wrists. “I trust you,” he said softly. 

That made Fenris blink rapidly before he took Anders’ hand in his, his thumb rubbing across the other man’s hand. “Thanks, it means a lot.”

Anders stared at their hands then up at Fenris with a faint smile. “It’s the truth,” he said sincerely. “I think you’re the only person in this whole nightmare I _do_ trust... the one bright spot in my existence.”

“Same, same,” the elf replied quietly. “We .. should get going,” Fenris added before heading down the ladder. Anders’ face had lit up with a smile at his words that gave Fenris a warm feeling inside that persisted even as he reached the bottom of the ladder and faced Josephine. As Anders reached the bottom behind Fenris, the elf felt the mage press his thin, bony wrists into Fenris’ hand even as he bowed his head, trustingly submitting even as Fenris brought his wrists into Josephine’s line of sight. The mage was so skinny that Fenris could hold both wrists together in one hand. A faint thrill ran through him at that realisation, and at the willing way Anders had submitted completely to him. He couldn't stop himself fantasizing about other ways he could have Anders’ submission. 

Josephine glanced up from her portable writing desk and her eyes focused sharply on Fenris’ hand and it’s grasp on the blond mage’s wrists. “Ah, of course. I had brought a set of magic-nullifying manacles with me, but I should have known you would take charge of handling him yourself,” she nodded. Fenris tried to ignore the sharp inhalation of breath from Anders as the mage kept his head bowed.

“We don’t have to go far, fortunately,” she went on, ignoring the small sound of distress. “There is a room on the other side of the gate - a mirror to your own. I’ve had the roof repaired, and a bed and washbasin placed there. There is only one ladder into the sleeping area, and two doors into the main living area. I can have a small bookshelf and writing desk brought in for him. There is a small fireplace so he will be warm enough. There are bars on the windows I am afraid, but they can be opened for fresh air - and there are no drapes. I had the shutters removed and a good supply of candles laid in. No magebane, as per your orders regarding his food. It will take longer to locate a cat, I am afraid.”

“That’s fine Josie, I’m glad he’s going to be close to me. Let’s get this done so we can both have dinner and I can call on Dorian,” Fenris said softly as he grasped Anders’ wrists a little tighter in his hand and waited for her to lead. 

She led them across the battlements to what would be Anders’ new prison; Fenris was aware of eyes on them as he led Anders, his hand firmly enclosed around the mage’s slender wrists. He knew Anders had kept his head bowed; as he felt Anders stumble, he wasn’t entirely sure if it were genuine or if the mage were putting on an act for their audience. Josephine was unaware as she led the way to the rooms she’d had prepared.

Fenris noted immediately that one door had been locked and barred, and the other modified with a latched slot where food could be delivered on a tray without the blond’s jailors ever having to look upon the mage. “There is only one key,” said Josephine as she opened the door and let them in. She turned and held it out to Fenris.

“Have a duplicate made and keep it,” Fenris said as he took the key and waited for her to go. Anders was covertly looking around the stark, bare living quarters from beneath his eyelashes as he kept his head bowed.

“Very well; drop by my office later and I’ll have the duplicate made,” nodded Josephine. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you Josephine. I appreciate this, really,” Fenris said with a smile.

“It’s no trouble,” she replied with a shrug. She crossed to the fireplace and put a set of manacles on the mantelpiece. “Just in case they’re needed,” she said casually. She nodded to Fenris then, with a last glance at Anders - who seemed to be trying to hide behind Fenris - she left and they were alone.

Anders could’t repress a shudder as he glanced at the manacles. “I’m rather glad it’s your hand around my wrists instead of those manacles,” he said quietly. “It’s not pleasant having my magic cut off like that. It’s... like having one of my senses gone. Like suddenly being struck deaf or blind.”

Fenris let him go reluctantly, his gaze going to the manacles as he walked around the rooms. “I’ll ask Josephine to move them, I’d rather not give someone a chance to hobble either one of us.” He shuddered slightly as he headed for the door. “If you need anything, have a message sent to me. I’ll return tomorrow after breakfast; right now I think I need to have a healthy serving of crow for dinner.” 

As he glanced back, he saw Anders standing forlornly in the middle of the empty room, looking lost. He gave Fenris a sad smile.

“I’ll be here,” he replied. “It’s not as though I’m going anywhere, after all.” He turned away and looked around the empty room aimlessly, then wandered over to the fireplace. Lighting it with a flick of his wrist, he sat down on the bare floorboards and stared into the flames, absently rubbing his bony wrists.

“I’ll have that desk and shelf sent for you, and books,” Fenris said before he strode back and hugged Anders close for a while. “I’m sorry, I wish I could stay.”

Anders stiffened briefly, taken by surprise, before melting into the hug, resting his head on Fenris’ shoulder as he moulded himself around the elf. “I wish you could as well,” he breathed. “But I understand. I can wait as long as I know you’ll come back. I don’t need anything else as long as I know you’ll come back.” His inhaled breath sounded like a sob.

It was Anders who broke their embrace first. He gently pushed Fenris back and smiled at him gently. “You should go,” he said quietly. “You’re doubtless needed elsewhere, and I can wait. People will talk if you spend too long comforting the prisoner.” His smile turned lopsided. “I have a bed, and I guess they’ll feed me at some point. As long as they remember to leave out the magebane, I’ll be fine.” His eyes turned a little bleak. “I’ll endure anything if I know you’ll come back.”

Fenris took a moment to compose himself before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before leaving and becoming Leto once more. “If the former Inquisitor needs anything, I’m to be found. Otherwise, no one is to enter this room but myself or Ambassador Montilyet,” he said to a nearby guard before heading off to Dorian’s rooms, hopeful they could talk.

He stopped in his room to get a bottle of wine as a peace offering before heading to the magister’s room and knocking. He heard the sound of someone moving around in the room, then footsteps approaching the door quietly before it opened and Zevran was staring up at him. 

The Antivan studied him for a moment before inclining his head and opening the door wider. “Dorian is sleeping,” he said quietly as he moved back into the room, leaving Fenris to follow behind him and close the door. The Antivan made for the windowsill and took up his customary seat beside the open window, bracing a booted foot against the opposite side of the window frame. He picked up a small whetstone and a long stiletto dagger; evidently Fenris had interrupted him in the middle of sharpening his blades.

“You have come to apologise, then?” said Zevran softly, not looking at Fenris.

“I have, yes. I can return when he is awake if you wish,” Fenris said quietly. 

Zevran’s hands stilled, and he glanced up at Fenris. “I think it would mean a great deal to him if he did not have to send for you,” he said quietly. “I think you should stay.” He returned his focus to honing the blade of his knife once more. “And perhaps then you could explain to me why you changed. Since you spared my life, I have felt this difference in you. Do you regret letting me live?”

Fenris took the chair by Zevran and hung his head as he tried to gather his thoughts. “No, never.” He wished for something in his hand so he could focus on that rather than just staring at his hands. “I...can’t regret letting you live so you have a chance to be free and learn to be happy. This place is ...this world…” the elf paused, unable to find words for how he was feeling.

“When I was brought into the hall and forced to kneel, to recite my crimes, I was certain you had chosen to hang me,” said Zevran distantly, his hands stilling. “When I think upon what I have done... I was certain that death was all that awaited me. I have prepared myself for the noose once before, at your feet, and it felt so like that, I was certain that this time I would feel the rope about my neck and dance the hempen dance for you. When you spared me, but warned me of the headsman’s axe....” He lifted his head with a faraway look in his eyes. “When I remember the things I did in that room... if you knew... I think you would kill me yourself. I - what I did -”

Zevran had gone rigid, a look of remembered horror in his eyes now, and Fenris realised with a start that the Antivan was no longer there with him but instead reliving what he had seen and done; the feeling of being a helpless puppet in the thrall of blood magic. The knife and whetstone had fallen from Zevran’s nerveless hands as he stared at nothing, oblivious now to Fenris’ presence.

The elf nudged the knife aside and approached Zevran with a hand out. “Zevran, you’re not there anymore. You’re here with me now, and Dorian. It’s alright.” He cupped the smaller elf’s face in his hands and tried to get him to see him. 

Zevran turned his face towards Fenris, his eyes still with that faraway look, his lips slightly parted as he shivered. “He... he has me,” he breathed. “The blood... it bound me, I was helpless... I see my hands, the knife, the - the girl, the girl with the grey eyes....”

“You’re not there, it’s ok. Breathe with me, know that you’re in Dorian’s room, you’re safe,” Fenris said as he tried to get Zevran back with him. Zevran gasped and shuddered; slowly his eyes focused on Fenris, losing the faraway look though the expression of horror remained. 

“The interrogation room... Vengeance,” he gasped. “I saw it. I lived it. He used me, used the blood to shred the Veil. He was calling up demons... and I helped him. I knew that when I would be of no further use for it that I would be the next victim in that room, and - and Maker save me, I helped him rather than die like that.”

“You were under a thrall, you couldn’t have stopped if you wanted. Listen to me, it’s not your fault!” Fenris said as he leaned in and kissed Zevran softly, first his forehead, then his cheeks and a soft press against the other elf’s lips before he pulled back. “You didn’t do this willingly.” 

Zevran was trembling; he had closed his eyes as Fenris kissed him, and he opened them again slowly as Fenris pulled back. “The interrogation room,” he said hoarsely. “I must take you there and show you what I have done. You will be able to feel the thinness of the Veil. I - I must go there again.”

“No, not right now or… ever really. I’m feeling a little fragile and I don’t think it’s a good idea with how you went back into the past just now,” Fenris said

Zevran bowed his head, slumping a little. “You understand, now, why I thought I would hang?” he whispered. “The things I have done... if you had chosen to hang me, then I would have deserved it. If you choose to kill me, knowing what I have done, then....” He gasped, half a sob, and shook his head.

“I wasn’t going to kill you, it was an act. You knew that going in there, why would I kill you? After all I had done to save you both, why do you think I’d kill you? That was a terrible, terrible act Zevran.” Fenris slid to his knees and stared up at the other elf. “I hated every moment of that, every word and how I had to look at you as I did. I ...I’m sorry I did that, that you thought I would actually hang you or hurt you. There is no way I could have given an order to have you hung or beheaded any more than I could cut off my sword arm.” He dropped his head to Zevran’s knees and sobbed.

“An... act?” whispered Zevran, a note of confusion in his voice. “But... it seemed so real... just like the first time, my hands manacled, the crowd, your voice... it was so like....” His voice tailed off as he stared down at Fenris and lifted a hand to thread his fingers into Fenris’ hair. “It... was not real? None of it was real? But... mine was no act,” he breathed. “I truly believed.”

“No, we had a plan… how could you think I had turned so cruel, and would hurt you? It was a terrible act,” Fenris replied. He was so confused since he thought the other men knew it was an act, that he was playing the part they expected, that they told him people expected out of Leto. 

“Because for that short, dreadful time, Zevran truly believed you were Leto and that it was merely the replay of the time Leto nearly _did_ hang him,” came Dorian’s voice quietly from the bed behind them. “On that occasion, Leto had fought hard with Vengeance, who was determined Zevran should die. Leto spared him, but I think Zevran has always believed it had been Leto who would execute him. And this time he believed it again. Zevran wasn’t with us in that hall, Fenris; he was reliving the past.”

Zevran lifted his head to stare at Dorian. “You mean... none of that was real?” he breathed. “Now, or then? I have been living a dream?”

“Some of it, yes,” said Dorian as he sat up in bed and regarded them sadly. “But some, I am afraid, was all too horribly real.”

Fenris didn’t move when he heard Dorian’s voice, he simply whimpered as he felt Zevran’s hand in his hair. “That was not Leto in the throne room, it was me… putting on an act so we could try and fix things. I’m sorry…” he gasped as he remained there, unnerved and emotionally worn out.

Zevran stared down at Fenris then slowly straightened, glancing up at Dorian in bewilderment then back at Fenris. “But then... what is truly real?” he asked. He put a hand to his head, the fingers in Fenris’ hair tightening slightly as the Antivan tried to ground himself. “What am I?” he murmured. “I no longer know who I am, what is real, what is fantasy....”

“It’s the blood magic, it can mess with your head after it’s done with you. Believe me, I know,” Fenris replied quietly as he turned to see Dorian but dropped his gaze.

Zevran glanced around, then closed his eyes as he sat there, swaying slightly, no longer fully aware of where he was. Dorian’s eyes widened.

“Fenris - the window!” he exclaimed as Zevran sat there precariously, only his fingers in Fenris’ hair grounding him.

Fenris jumped up, grabbed Zevran around the waist and hauled him back to the bed. He laid the elf down, and slid to the floor again. “Lock that damned window.” he said shakily.

Zevran sprawled on the bed by Dorian’s feet; slowly he curled up into a ball and hid his face in his arms, shuddering, as Dorian reached for him. “ _Amatus_?” said the magister, worried, but Zevran didn’t respond.

“Fenris?” said Dorian as he glanced around for the other elf. “Fenris, I think after hearing all of that, I... I truly owe you an apology. I take it back. You weren’t to know what effect that whole mummery would have on Zevran - I don’t think _any_ of us could have predicted it. After being affected by Vengeance’s blood magic for so long, no wonder he can barely tell what is real and what is not anymore.”

Fenris had curled up on the floor and gone quiet. He was shaken by almost losing Zevran again and what the other elf had said to him. He glanced up at Dorian’s voice but just turned his gaze back to the underside of the bed. He felt worse than when he’d decided to apologize to them, somehow.

Dorian knelt beside Zevran and gently slipped an arm around him and lifted him up; Zevran curled up against him, face still hidden in his arms which he’d wrapped around his head, dishevelled pale gold hair hiding him from view as Dorian held him close and gently stroked the hair.

“Zevran?” he said softly. “It’s safe. You’re safe now - Vengeance can never touch you again. You’re safe now.”

Fenris sat up slowly and leaned back to watch them. “You don’t owe me an apology, Dorian,” he finally said. Dorian glanced over at him.

“You’d told me what effect it had on you when I called you a bastard,” he said quietly. “I’d told you I didn’t want a fight, that I couldn’t handle that again - but you made it quite clear how I’d hurt you.” A slight touch of steel had crept into his voice. “You made it quite clear indeed - you detailed for me at some length the ways in which I have failed you and hurt you, Fenris. And now when I try to apologise you dismiss it?” He dropped his gaze to Zevran, who was still curled up and unresponsive. “Did you come back to continue our fight?” he asked, softly - almost plaintively. “Was it not enough that I was breaking before you? I asked you to leave because I couldn’t bear it. Please... I don’t want to fight again. I can’t. I will be no better than Zevran if we do.”

“I came to apologize to both of you, that was all, Dorian,” Fenris said quietly, his attention on a loose thread in the carpet as he fought the urge to run. “I wasn’t dismissing it, I don’t think you owe me an apology for my poor behavior earlier. I can leave if you’d rather not see me, or have an apology when you aren’t doing well either.” The elf seemed defeated as he sat there, unable to look the other man in the eye as he waited.

“Don’t go,” Zevran whispered hoarsely, not stirring as Dorian caressed his hair and pressed a gentle kiss to the fingers wrapped around his head.

“Yes,” agreed Dorian softly. “Please. Stay. I don’t know what terrible malady has afflicted us all, but... please. Stay. I... _we_ need you. We need each other, all three of us. We _have_ to work through this; Zevran and I need you or we are dead men - and you need us to help maintain this charade of being Leto.” He stared at Fenris. “And... to help us all escape this terrible place with our collective sanities intact. We... we can’t stay here, I know this now. Leto will not react well to what has happened, and neither I nor Zevran would survive his wrath for long. We have to get out of here. I need my notes - I need to find a way to get you home before this dreadful place destroys _your_ sanity, but we also need safety. Please. Please stay.”

“I’m never getting home, it's been so long here now,” Fenris said as he fixated on that one spot he’d found in Dorian’s rug. “My sanity has been suspect for a while before I got here. I’ll just do what I have to and pretend until someone rats me out.” 

“Disband the Inquisition,” said Dorian sombrely. “End it. Tell Josephine to wrap everything up. We’ll leave, get away from here - just the three of us.”

“Four, I can’t leave Anders, he’ll be dead in hours if we go,” Fenris replied as he kept staring at the floor. He felt strangely calm and detached about what they were discussing, like he was watching rather than in the room. 

Dorian blinked at that, and even Zevran slowly lifted his head.

“Is there even anything of Anders left in that shell?” whispered Zevran.

“I doubt it;” said Dorian quietly. “We brought back his spirit, but... I am not sure there was even much of him left in there.”

Zevran uncurled slightly. “I want to see him,” he said.

“He’s … mostly there but he doesn’t understand why we didn’t let him die. Let him be until tomorrow, its been a hard day for him, and me,” Fenris said quietly. “Templars tried to kill him, if I hadn’t stopped them he’d be dead now.”

Zevran abruptly pulled away from Dorian and leapt down from the bed to crouch before Fenris. “I wish to see him,” he said. “ _Now._ ”

“No,” the warrior replied as he looked into Zevran’s eyes. “You’re already not doing well and seeing him might make it worse or...terrify him. He remembers what Vengeance made him do, he remembered the order to hang you.” 

“I asked you to save him,” said Zevran in a low, soft voice as he knelt in front of Fenris. “Now, I am asking you to let me see him.” He reached out a hand in entreaty. “Please. I beg of you. Let me merely look upon him once, and I will be satisfied. You need not tell him I am there. Only let me see him, hear his voice.”

“Fine, follow me.” Fenris rose without checking for the smaller elf as he made sure he had the key still. Zevran rose to his feet; Dorian was rising from the bed and casting around for his boots; hastily the magister donned them and snatched up a robe.

Fenris was silent as he led them back to the tower where Anders had been put, his expression sad as he approached the door. “Dorian, are you coming with me or waiting outside?” 

Dorian hesitated as he stared at Zevran, then stepped to one side. “I would not want to overwhelm him,” he said. “Go, I will wait.” Zevran had already stepped to the door with an expectant look.

Fenris paused for a moment before he knocked on the door and waited. After several minutes of silence in which Zevran grew visibly more impatient, they heard a sleepy voice call out. “Who’s there?”

“Fenris, I brought a visitor with me if you are up to company,” he said with a glance to Zevran. 

There was a silence as Anders digested this unexpected bit of news, and then he called out to them, “Well... you have the key. I... guess it’s up to you? Uh... come in.”

As Fenris opened the door, Anders was sitting up from a nest of blankets, and Fenris realised the blond mage must have pulled down all the bedding from his loft bedroom to sleep curled up in front of the fire.

Zevran pushed forward impatiently and strode swiftly to the fire and stood there, staring down at Anders, who looked up at him in bewilderment before his eyes suddenly widened and he screamed, backing away from the Antivan on his hands and knees until he hit the wall. He pressed himself against it, staring up at Zevran in terror as he screamed again. 

Fenris pulled Dorian in before he shut the door and tried to calm Anders. “Hey… it’s ok, I wouldn’t bring him here to hurt you. It’s ok Anders, really,” the elf said softly as he approached.

Anders was shivering as he stared at Zevran, who was still standing by the fire, staring back at him. Slowly the Antivan drew closer, then knelt down in front of Anders as the blond mage pressed himself against the wall, staring at him wide-eyed. If either man were aware of Dorian and Fenris, they didn’t show it. 

Abruptly Zevran lunged forward, grasping Anders’ shoulders as he pressed him hard against the wall, and Anders gasped.

“You,” breathed Zevran. “I remember. You stood over me. Your magic held me. And I saw... in your eyes....”

Anders’ eyes widened. “And... I remember _you_ ,” he whispered. “The knife in your hand. The things my voice told you to do, and I couldn’t look away. Watching. And later....”

He lifted a hand to wrap it slowly around Zevran’s throat, and now it was the Antivan’s turn to gasp. 

“I ordered Leto to hang you,” breathed Anders. “But it wasn’t me. He was going to make me watch, and I was screaming and screaming but I couldn’t stop him and -”

Zevran moved swiftly, pressing a hand over Anders’ mouth, silencing him. They held still, eyes transfixed on each other, Zevran’s hand over Anders’ mouth and Anders’ hand wrapped around Zevran’s throat.

Fenris started to go towards them but jumped when he felt a hand on his waist. “This was a bad idea, I need to stop it.”

“Wait, _amatus_ ,” murmured Dorian. “They are remembering each other. This is what they have both shared and yet forgotten, I think. They need to see beyond their own guilt and, Dumat take me, but I think they will now.”

Anders’ hand fell from Zevran’s throat as his eyes drifted half-closed, and it was only Zevran’s hand against his lips and the hand upon his shoulder that kept Anders upright. Zevran stared down at him, then pulled Anders to him and held him close. “ _Mi amico_ , what have we done to one another?” he breathed. “What did that demon do to us?”

“I need a drink or just sleep, this is too much,” Fenris said shakily as he watched them. 

“You and I both,” sighed Dorian as he tugged Fenris closer and wrapped both arms around the tall elf. “But I think perhaps now they might be able to start healing.”

“I wish I knew that sleep spell, I just need to rest,” Fenris said as he watched them talking, his mind on his bed and the bottle of whiskey he’d left in their room. Zevran was holding Anders close, murmuring quietly to him as Anders lay there, seemingly only half conscious from the shock of the memories that had flooded in upon them both.

“I think it unwise to leave them alone,” said Dorian. “I am not sure what the reaction of the guards might be, unless we say that Zevran is interrogating him. I think that might be enough to keep prying eyes and ears away, hmm? And then perhaps you and I might rest. Your room is only across the way, after all.”

Zevran lifted his head and glanced around at Fenris. “You may leave me with him,” he said with a small shrug. “Lock me in with him; I will stay here until you return.”

Dorian snorted. “It’s not as if you can’t let yourself out whenever you wish, hmm?”

Zevran smiled. “I could,” he agreed. “But perhaps I find this imprisonment to my liking, eh?” He looked down at Anders, who had remained silent. “And I did say, did I not, that I would look after him no matter his condition, and take that gladly as my penance? Let us be imprisoned together.”

“I’m not locking the door, I’ll tell the guards to let you out when you’re ready to go Zevran,” Fenris said tiredly. He felt as if he could lie down and sleep for a week right there but he kept steady, barely. 

As they stood there, watching, Fenris became aware of the guards talking outside the door.

“Did you hear that scream?” one of the guards was saying.

“Yeah... poor bugger, the Spymaster took no time getting straight to work, didn’t he?” said the other.

“New Inquisitor is as bad as the old, you ask me,” said the first, darkly.

“Shut up!” hissed the second. “Those bloody elf ears - you want he should hear us and drag _us_ down to that bloody hole?”

“Maker’s blue balls, no!” exclaimed the first guard, and Fenris heard a shuffling of feet as they moved away. Dorian had cocked his head slightly to listen, and he turned to Fenris.

“Hmm. Possibly a useful ruse?” he murmured softly. “It would be convenient if Zevran wishes to stay for a while, no? And gives us a good reason why we should be here as well. Overseeing the interrogation, as it were.” He glanced over at Anders, whose eyes were closed now as Zevran continued to talk to him softly. “Poor bastard,” added Dorian. “He’s been as much a victim of this as any of us. You were right. The four of us, then. He certainly wouldn’t survive long around Leto, I fear; he told me once that he was only biding his time before freeing him from the demon permanently.”

“We should leave them be,” said Fenris quietly as he watched the two men.

Zevran glanced up at them. “Go,” he said quietly. “I shall stay here with Anders. If anyone asks, say we are not to be disturbed.”

Dorian nodded. “Come along, _amatus_ ,” he said gently as he began to guide Fenris towards the door. He placed the key on a shelf next to the door, then closed it behind him. 

As the guards looked around, Dorian put on a disgusted expression. “ _Venhedis_ , the Spymaster is far to eager at his work,” he exclaimed loudly. “You’d think he’d have waited five minutes - I’d almost feel sorry for that bastard. Never fear, _amatus_ , he’ll make him talk.” He glared at the nearby guards. “Pass the word - no-one is to disturb the Spymaster whilst he interrogates the prisoner, am I clear?”

The guards saluted. “Ser, yes ser!” snapped out one of the guards.

“And see that we are not disturbed either,” Dorian added darkly as he guided Fenris towards the Commander’s quarters. “Say nothing of what you’ve heard here, or it’ll be _you_ the Spymaster gets to interrogate next, understood?”

He hurried Fenris back to the rooms and gave him a little push into the main living area as he turned and shut the door, bolting it after them before turning to rest his back against it. “ _Vishante kaffas_ \- knowing what I do now of Zevran, that sickened me to say,” he confessed.

“Now you know why I hated myself for that performance,” Fenris said as he glanced at the ladder and made himself head up. 

“Fenris,” said Dorian hesitantly. “Do you - would you like me to - to stay?”

“Sure, but I’m about to be unconscious very soon. I haven’t done very well with eating or resting the last couple of days, and ...that discussion in your room kind of broke me. I just wish I couldn’t dream,” Fenris said as he watched the other man carefully.

“I think the discussions in my room of the past couple of days have rather broken me also,” Dorian confessed bleakly. “And the prospect of a sleep that hasn’t been induced by one of Zevran’s poisons is exceedingly tempting. I... shall have to have words with Zevran about that at some point, I think - but not now, or even today.” He crossed slowly to the ladder, and he followed Fenris up into his bedroom.

Fenris stripped without caring or thinking where his clothes landed, he didn’t think twice about stripping naked in front of Dorian, and soon he had flopped on his back to stare up at the ceiling until sleep claimed him. He was distantly aware of the mattress dipping and then the feeling of Dorian curling up close to him, not quite touching.

“I’m not going to bite you, Dorian,” Fenris said as he noticed how carefully the other man had climbed into his bed and kept away from him. “Unless you ask that is.”

“I might, at that,” murmured Dorian quietly. “But I... didn’t want to risk pushing things too far. I will confess though that I do miss the feel of your teeth, _amatus_.”

“Right now the only thing that will push me off the cliff edge I’m on is something else happening, or … Varania popping up to see me right now.” Fenris giggled as he thought of how that would play out, though there was nothing funny about her interrupting them.

Dorian inched closer, then hesitantly slid an arm around Fenris’ waist as he pressed himself against the elf. “And...so... if I _were_ to ask?”

“I could give you that, if you wanted it,” Fenris said as he reached up to brush hair out of Dorian’s eyes. “Sorry I’m such a failure at being ...someone you can care for,” he finished.

Dorian stared up into his eyes. “Please,” he breathed. “It isn’t Leto I want right now; it’s not even Zevran. It’s your teeth I want to feel; your hands on me. Please.”

“Alright...just...bear with me if I’m a little needy,” Fenris said before leaning in to kiss Dorian like he’d been wanting to, how he missed it. He pulled the other man on top of him as he kept kissing the brunet as if he needed the connection. He pulled back for air and to gently muss the other man’s hair. 

Dorian made a faint sound of annoyance but didn’t pull away as he stared down at Fenris. Then he bent down and kissed Fenris with light, nipping, teasing kisses before kissing a trail slowly along the line of Fenris’ jaw then licked a long, slow stripe up the shell of Fenris’ ear, arching his neck as he did so, before whispering, “Bite me....” His throat vibrated with the sound, so enticingly close to Fenris’ lips and teeth.

The elf tugged his head aside and sunk his teeth into Dorian’s throat, biting down hard enough to bruise, even licking the other man’s neck before he eased back a bit. “I wanted to.... Hurt you, break your skin, what’s wrong with me?” he whispered even as he let his fangs out. 

Dorian gasped with the pain of the bite and shuddered, but didn’t pull away even as he felt Fenris’ fangs lightly grazing his bruised flesh. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “I just know I want that... want you, want anything you choose to do to me.” He shivered, his eyes closed, as he felt the points of Fenris’ fangs resting against his skin. “Please,” he breathed.

“No… what do you want to do with me?” Fenris asked before he rolled them over so he could tug Dorian’s head to the other side and bite him again, even rolling his hips against his lover. “You’re driving me mad,” he whispered before driving his fangs even deeper into the other man’s neck. 

Dorian cried out at the second bite; as he felt hot, wet blood well up around Fenris’ fangs on the third bite, he screamed, arching his body up against Fenris as he cried out the elf’s name. He clutched at Fenris, his body shuddering, and then he wrapped his legs around Fenris’ waist as he tugged them closer together.

“Fenris,” he managed to gasp. “Dumat, that... that hurts. Not... not quite so hard?” he pleaded. “I... I don’t think I want to bleed, but... but anything else, I’m yours!”

“I want to fuck you so hard you don’t know your own name,” Fenris growled in his ear before he tried to find a good spot to lick and bite Dorian. “I also want you to ride me until I don’t know who I am either.”

Dorian lifted a hand to thread it into Fenris’ hair, cradling the back of the elf’s head as he tilted his head to one side then guided Fenris’ head towards his bared collarbone. “Fenris,” he breathed. “Fuck me. I want to feel you inside me, however you wish... as hard as you want. Please... claim me....”

“Don’t… barely controlling myself as it is,” Fenris panted as he forced himself to slow down and nuzzle at Dorian’s neck for a little bit. “What...do you want first?” he asked before biting at his lover again, small bites along his neck and jaw.

Dorian opened his eyes dazedly. “Claws,” he murmured. “I want to feel your claws... marking me, my back... marking me as yours.... I want to feel you even when you’re not there by the way my skin aches for you....”

“Easy... easy, my claws are sharp … _amatus_ ,” Fenris said as he pulled back reluctantly to look for oil. He found that and rope which he put in Dorian’s line of sight, but didn’t ask to use yet. He knelt next to the other mage as he caressed his bed mate slow and easy. “Can I ... tell you something I like?” he asked quietly.

Dorian stared up at him trustingly. “Anything,” he murmured. 

“So eager to give me anything… I wonder if you can give me this finally,” Fenris said as he trailed his fingers down until he was stroking Dorian slow and steady. “My Dorian at home and I play with rope a lot, and ...he really likes riding me, so sometimes I’ll let him tie me up and ride but I can’t do anything but what he wants from me. Sometimes we make it interesting and he gags me or puts a ring on me so I can’t come until he’s ready for it. Or sometimes he’ll use me until I’m so worn out I can’t do anything but beg for him to let me take over and fuck him until he’s the one begging. We don't do it often but I really, really like it when we do that.” 

He leaned down and sucked Dorian’s cock for a moment before giving a smile and extending his fangs. “I left rope within reach, if that sounds like fun I’ll play. Otherwise I want to keep sucking you for a while.” 

Dorian gasped and his body shuddered beneath Fenris as he felt the elf’s hot, wet mouth enclosing his flesh. He could feel the pinprick touch of the elf’s fangs as he was swallowed down - yet even the frisson of fear that rolled through him only served to make him harder and want more.

“F-Fenris,” he stammered. “I - I - _venhedis!_ ” He bit his lip as Fenris swallowed him down again. “I just - I want you, everything you have - your teeth, your claws, your mouth, your cock, I -” He broke off with another stuttering cry, thought rapidly fleeing his head as his hands threaded into Fenris’ hair and he gave himself over to sensation.

The elf kept sucking him off, moaning slightly as he enjoyed making Dorian come undone as he pleasured him. Fenris pulled away for air but reached up to encourage the pulling on his hair. “You like that?”

Dorian was panting, his hair a dishevelled mess as he lay there, perspiration beading his face and sheening his body. “Fenris,” he gasped. “Please... need... need more....”

“More what?” Fenris said as he took in his handiwork of the mess Dorian was. “I want you to suck me for a bit, is that ok?” he asked before kissing the other man for a moment, enjoying taking the brunet apart.

“More this, more you,” panted Dorian. “Yes - your cock - please, let me taste it,” he added as he tried to sit up, unheeding of the blood running down his body from the bite wounds in his neck and shoulder.

The elf ran a thumb over the bites to heal them so they weren’t dripping blood over them before laying back and letting Dorian do what he wanted with him. He even spread his legs for Dorian to have room and get comfortable. “Does... Leto … do you keep toys to play with here?” he asked as his cock was taken halfway down and all he got was a happy moan in answer. Dorian had settled himself between Fenris’ thighs, his head bent over Fenris’ groin, lips stretched around Fenris’ cock as he sank himself down, trying to swallow down as much of the elf’s cock as he could. He pulled up then sank down again, hollowing his cheeks as he reached further down, relaxing his jaw as he closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and trying to control his gag reflex as he felt the head of Fenris’ cock brush the back of his throat. Then on his next downstroke he felt his breath cut off as Fenris slid that final inch into his throat and he swallowed.

“Fuck… fuck… Dorian..” Fenris let himself get a handful of dark hair and pulled. “Please…” he moaned with each bob of the other man’s head. “More…” 

Dorian lifted his head free of Fenris’ cock with a ragged gasp as he strained against the grasp of Fenris’ hand tight in his curls. “Oil,” he managed hoarsely.

The elf let go just to hand him the oil and lay back for him. He even raised a leg with a smile for his bedmate. “Ready for what you want to do to me.”

Dorian was still panting, even as he rose up to his knees. He pressed Fenris’ leg back down to the bed then straddled the elf’s hips as he anointed Fenris’ cock with oil. “You said you wanted to be ridden,” he managed, still breathless as he slicked up Fenris’ cock before he moved forward until he was kneeling up over the elf’s hips. He reached back to grasp Fenris’ cock and guide it to his entrance, and then he sank down onto Fenris’ cock, impaling himself to the hilt with a loud cry.

“Hey!” Fenris said as he reached up to grab at Dorian. “That wasn’t enough oil, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

Dorian lifted himself up then sank down again with a low groan as he reached down to wrap his hands around Fenris’ wrists as the elf grasped at him. Dorian stared down at him and managed a breathless laugh. “Fuck me, Fenris!” he gasped as he ground himself down onto the elf’s cock.

“I don’t want you to hurt,” the elf said as he freed his wrists and sat up so he could wrap an arm around Dorian’s waist. He started to roll his hips slow and easy, his other hand bracing himself against the bed. “Silence spell if you want to scream my name,” he panted.

Dorian’s eyes had darkened as his pupils blew wide; he was staring down at Fenris with a slightly glazed expression, but he blinked and a little more awareness of what was going on seemed to sink back in as he lifted a hand and managed to concentrate enough to throw up a silence spell. “Fenris... I want this,” he panted. “I want all of you. I want to be filled with you, fucked so hard I forget my name, that I will feel you in the morning - that I’ll feel _this_ , here, now - I want to ache with the feel of you!” He bit his lip as he rolled his hips against Fenris, feeling himself filled deep with the elf. “You gave me your teeth but I want more - your claws, your cock, _you_!” he begged.

“I already made you bleed, calm down,” Fenris said before he rolled them over and he urged Dorian to wrap his legs around him so he could give him the hard fuck he kept asking for. He bit the other mage’s shoulder as he started to thrust hard, slow, easy since he wasn’t in a hurry.

Dorian gave a low cry as he felt Fenris’ teeth in his flesh again and he crossed his ankles in the small of Fenris’ back to pull him in hard against him, gasping as the movement caused Fenris’ next thrust to bury itself far deeper and harder than the previous one. It hurt, but it felt good. “More,” he breathed. “Harder.” He couldn’t have said if it were Fenris’ teeth, cock or both that he wanted - he only knew that the more Fenris gave him, the closer he came to that wonderful place where the world would drop away and he would be blissfully at peace for a little while.

The elf growled in his ear as he sped his thrusts so he was hitting harder, deeper than he’d started out. Soon Fenris was panting as he pushed himself harder, losing himself to his baser instinct to fuck Dorian until he begged and said he was his. He didn’t even feel when his wings unfurled and spread over them. 

Dorian’s panted cries died as he opened his eyes and stared at the wings. He gazed at the silvered white and felt his mind starting to drift. He could still feel the sweet pain of each thrust; could feel the sharp pangs as Fenris’ teeth sank viciously hard into his collarbone. He shuddered and cried out. “Please - don’t....” he pleaded, the biting just too much on the painful side for him to enjoy. Fenris grunted in acknowledgement, kissing the bruising skin in mute apology before snapping his hips harder and faster. Dorian gasped, feeling himself drifting back into that warm place inside where he was aware of only the sensations in his body and little else.

“Come for me… want to give you a good time,” Fenris moaned before he felt his claws extend into the headboard as he came suddenly, and not as he wanted. “Dori...Doriannnnn,” he groaned as he kept thrusting through his orgasm.

Dorian gazed up into his eyes, and some distant part of him that were still capable of rational thought noted they were the glowing green of dragon fire. He smiled dazedly; as Fenris ordered him to come, he felt his mind surrendering.

He came hard, with a hoarse ragged scream that tailed off as he went limp beneath Fenris, still gazing up at the elf, only distantly aware now of the pain which had retreated into a haze of sensation. He was floating, breathless, aware only of Fenris’ gaze and the fog he was sinking into. “Fenris,” he whispered. “I’m yours.” 

“As I am yours, _amatus_ ,” the elf replied as he pulled away and winced at how sticky they were from Dorian’s spend and his that trickled from the other man as he slipped out and cussed at still being hard as he rose and fetched water to wipe them clean.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dorian and Fenris continue to play, things don't go the way they expected. Fenris takes comfort in Anders.

Dorian was drifting in a haze of endorphins; he gazed at Fenris as the elf moved away from the bed then returned with water and began to clean him up. 

“Fenris,” he murmured. “You’re still hard.”

“I’ll deal with it in a minute,” muttered Fenris. He was far too keenly aware of his continuing erection, and it was hard to resist the urge to just flip Dorian over on his stomach and fuck him right through the mattress.

Dorian seemed almost to be reading his mind as the magister merely smiled then rolled over onto his stomach. “Use me,” he breathed softly. “I want to feel your claws.”

Fenris stared at the smooth, tawny skin of the magister’s back, the blackwork dragon tattoo that writhed across it, wending its way from the head at Dorian’s right shoulder to its tail as it wound around his left hip and thigh. He ran a hand down over Dorian’s skin, feeling firm muscle beneath his palm. He swept his hand lower to grasp and knead the magister’s firm arse before he found himself swiftly straddling Dorian’s hips, pinning the smaller man to the bed as he grasped Dorian’s shoulders and let his claws extend fully, the points driving into the magister’s skin before he dragged his hands down Dorian’s back, leaving raised welts from shoulders to the small of Dorian’s back as the magister cried out and shuddered beneath him.

“If you hadn’t just come, I think that would have pushed you over,” Fenris said as he kept palming Dorian’s ass, even slapping the firm muscle as he considered what to do next. He smiled as he leaned forward to trace the lines of the dragon slowly with his tongue, even letting his fangs scrape against Dorian’s skin on occasion. 

Dorian shivered beneath him. “Fenris,” he whispered. “Please... the rope... more?”

“No love, not tonight,” Fenris said before he bit Dorian on the ass and turned him over. “Dorian...what’s my name?” he asked as he tilted the mage’s face towards him.

The magister gazed up at him with a dreamy smile. “Fenris,” he breathed. “You’re Fenris. And you’re still hard....” He tried to sit up and reach for Fenris’ cock.

“Easy, easy...I’ll take care of it, you’re pretty far gone,” Fenris said as he gently pushed Dorian back. Dorian closed his eyes; he was more aware of his other aches and pains now - the bruises, the bites, the welts down his back, the raw places inside where he had taken Fenris in too much, too fast. All too easy to sink into those pains, the throbbing as he opened his eyes again and gazed at the dragon wings.

“Dorian, can you still hear me? Do you know where you are?” Fenris asked as he caught the dreamy expression on the other man’s face. He felt a pang of jealousy for the last time he’d felt that but drew himself back to healing. 

“Fenris?” slurred Dorian as he drifted. “Your... your room.... Fenris, still hard....”

“Yeah, yeah I know I’m hard,” Fenris murmured. “Come on, come back, Dorian. You’ve spaced out on me, haven’t you?”

Dorian chuckled, breathlessly. “Not quite fucked senseless... not far off,” he confessed in a soft murmur. “Still not averse to another round when I’ve gotten my breath back, though.” He was steadily coming back to himself, even if things still felt rather fuzzy around the edges.

“I almost broke your collarbone, I’m afraid of losing control,” Fenris admitted as he called up ice to rub Dorian with. “Let me know if it’s too much right now, but you’re sweating and really hot.” 

Dorian gasped at the touch of the ice, then gave a small groan. “No... not too much,” he purred. “Far from it, in fact.” He gave Fenris an encouraging smile. “I don’t think you’ll lose control, _amatus_ ; you eased back on the biting when it was too much, after all.” He lifted a hand to touch his fingers to the marks where Fenris had healed the bleeding bites earlier. “As long as you’re still capable of that, then I have no fear of you losing control and actually hurting me seriously.” He shivered as Fenris swept a hand with ice across his abs. “Dumat, but that’s cold! That would feel so good on my back though.” 

He rolled over to bare his welted back to Fenris, then shuddered beneath the elf’s hands with a faint hiss as Fenris trailed ice over his heated flesh. “Ohhh... feels so good,” groaned the magister, the sound going straight to Fenris’ groin and his hard cock.

Fenris rubbed ice across the welts he’d raised, his mind on the last time he’d gotten his Dorian out of his head; he forced himself not to think on it because he missed him and if he thought too hard, he’d wind up in a worse place than when they’d started. Instead he leaned down and gently bit the back of his lover’s neck, careful not to break skin. “More ice?”

“ _Venhedis_ , yesss....” breathed Dorian. He was slowly writhing against the sheets, his eyes closed. “Keep doing this and you could do almost anything to me... you’re getting me worked up again, _amatus_....”

“Yeah...what do you want, _amatus_?” Fenris asked softly as he called up more ice and rubbed it over the welts, following with his tongue over the marks, even the lines of the tattoo. 

“Rope,” breathed Dorian. “A blindfold. And then your hands, ice... whatever you wish, _amatus_.” He smiled, his eyes still closed. “You have no idea what this is doing to me....”

“You’re gagging for me to use rope on you… do you like being helpless then?” Fenris asked before he bit Dorian on the ass hard enough to mark but not break skin. He glanced at the rope wistfully, wishing he could have it used on him but bit back the sigh he wanted to let out. 

“To a certain extent? Yes,” nodded Dorian. “It’s about surrendering control. You may have noticed I can be exceptionally fond of keeping control in most situations... sometimes it can be freeing to just give it up to someone else. In Leto’s case, I think it gave him more of a sense of control to tie me up - after all, I _am_ a magister, and there would have been some very bad connotations to it if I’d been the one to tie _him_ up. But somewhere along the way, what I’d done to make him feel more secure became something I enjoyed for the sake of it. So... yes. I like feeling helpless in the bedroom, _amatus_. Though I prefer not to be gagged if I am going to be tied up, though on occasion Leto would insist on it anyway. There were things he liked to do to me that were... not pleasant to experience at first and I would scream and try to struggle - but once I’d gotten used to them were quite pleasant after all. So he’d gag me so I couldn’t object before I had a chance to enjoy them properly. I don’t think I would like to be that helpless again though. So... yes, _amatus_ , I would like you to bind me, because I rather enjoy feeling helpless with you. And I trust you.”

“I’d ask to get tied up but every time we’ve tried, I’ve fucked that up.” Fenris tried to joke but it came out wrong, so he ignored his own words and reached for the rope.

“I think the last time was me, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian quietly as he finally opened his eyes and looked up at the elf. He offered his wrist wordlessly for Fenris to begin binding him, content for the elf to tie him up however he chose.

Fenris gave him a wan smile as he sat there wondering how to tie the other man. “How do you want to be tied? I want you to give consent and… have fun,” the elf said as he twisted the rope in his hands. 

Dorian’s smile became slightly twisted and wry. “Is this some new way of tormenting me, _amatus_?” he asked. “Drawing out the moment until I resort to merely begging for you to fuck me?” He laughed, then buried his face against the covers with a low sound of frustration before looking back up at Fenris. “Surely you must have some preference as to how you wish to have me? Spread-eagled, or my hands above my head perhaps? Fenris, I am asking you to tie me up. I am asking to be helpless at your hands. How do _you_ wish to have me? I am giving you consent to tie me up however you wish!”

“Not trying to torment you no, I just...I’m trying to make sure it’s what you want too,” Fenris replied before unwinding the rope and pondering how he would like Dorian tied. “On your stomach, please.”

“Very well,” smiled Dorian as he lay down again, resting his arms by his side, his face turned to the side so he could watch Fenris.

The elf pulled his hands out and over Dorian’s head so he could bind him to the bed posts but leave his legs free. Once he was done, he made sure they weren’t too tight and that Dorian could still breathe, and move around a bit. “On your knees for me.”

Dorian rose to his knees obediently then knelt there, head bowed a little, waiting for the blindfold and Fenris’ touch.

The warrior let his own nails trail down Dorian’s back as he considered the strong back and the other man’s firm, enticing ass. Fenris smiled before he rummaged in the nightstand for a blindfold, glad to find a strip of black cloth that he tied tight, leaving enough room for Dorian to work it off if he needed.

“Wish I had my own toy box, I’d make you beg after keeping you on edge for a while,” he whispered in the other man’s ear before sliding underneath Dorian to suck him off again, get him worked up before he fucked him senseless. 

“Leto has -” Dorian broke off with a small gasp as Fenris took him in. “ _Venhedis_...! H-he... Leto h-had - has a -” Fenris smiled around Dorian’s cock as he heard how the magister stuttered, trying to get the words out. “Chest. Under bed. Toys -” Dorian got no further as his voice tailed off into a groan.

Fenris was more interested in sucking Dorian off, making the magister writhe over him, maybe even fuck his mouth a bit before he investigated the box. He pulled back for a breath. “What was that? Toys?” Fenris asked before taking Dorian again.

“Yes, t- _venhedis!_ Fenris!” Dorian’s voice had crept up in pitch as he tried to hold still, kneeling over Fenris, legs spread apart as the elf took him in again. The magister’s cock had definitely woke up again to take an interest in proceedings. “L-Leto bought a - a number of toys in - _vishante kaffas_ , that’s really rather distracting - in - in Orlais... box under the bed -” He broke off and shuddered.

The elf reluctantly pulled away with a lewd pop before looking under the bed to see a small chest that he could barely reach if he stretched. He grinned as he pulled the chest out and whistled as he saw the assortment of toys including a thick marble toy like the one Zevran had used on him. “So many options…” he murmured before taking out a few things and setting them next to Dorian.

“Leto and I have similar tastes in toys… interesting, isn’t it?” He kissed Dorian before nibbling on his neck and kissing his way back down to the magister’s cock. “So many options for us.” 

“Now I’m curious what you might have found,” said Dorian with a smile. “Leto does have quite a fascinating range of toys. Don’t worry though, the collar is mine; I wouldn’t dream of ever asking Leto to wear one. Or you. The, ah, the manacles are thanks to a little embarrassing loss of control. After I set the drapes on fire on one occasion, Leto suggested they might be a good idea.” He chuckled. “Having my magic cut off is a small price to pay in exchange for not burning to death in one’s bed, I find.”

“I can’t collar anyone,” Fenris replied acidly, stopping before he took Dorian in his mouth. “I’m burning it...I can’t…”

“The collar is seriously optional, Fenris,” said Dorian gently. “Burn it if you wish. I certainly shan’t mind. In fact, if anything in that box displeases you then feel free to dispose of it however you wish.” His smile became lopsided. “Dumat knows, there are a few toys in there that I’d quite happily burn myself.” He lowered his head between his shoulders and licked his lips. “Fenris? You’ve gone rather still....” A faintly worried note had crept into his voice.

“Sorry...I just...remembered a bad time for me involving a collar. I just need a minute,” Fenris said shakily. He was glad he hadn’t spotted the collar or things could have gone badly for him. He hated how it could still get to him after all this time. 

“Fenris?” said Dorian. He was unaware that he had begun to tug at the ropes restraining his wrists, ignoring the slight burn as he turned his head slightly, blind and helpless. “Fenris, we don’t have to play with anything in the box if you’d rather not,” he went on. “This is supposed to be enjoyable for _both_ of us. This consent thing goes both ways - I won’t ask you to consent to do anything to me you aren’t happy with, alright?”

“I’ll be ok… just… I’m glad I didn’t see the collar. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you until we’re done then we’re going to burn it and other toys you don’t like. Sorry...just give me a few minutes.” Fenris closed his eyes, breathed deeply for a few moments until he felt centered again. “Where were we?” 

“I believe you’d found some toys and were amusing yourself deciding which ones to use on me,” said Dorian with a small smile. “Am I mistaken, or have you set out a few there? I can feel something cold... marble? Is that something marble resting against my knee there?” Dorian had tilted his head to one side, trying to guess what had rolled to nudge against the outside of his knee.

“Yeah, a rather large toy and one that my Zevran has used on me. I also got something to use on myself while I fuck you,” Fenris said as he scooted back down to resume sucking Dorian both to get in the mood and distract himself from what he hadn’t seen in the box.

“Oh?” said Dorian, in an intrigued tone. “I wonder -” he broke off and shivered as he felt Fenris’ mouth enveloping his cock once more. “ _Venhedis_ , it is truly sinful how good you are at that,” he gasped. As Fenris glanced back up Dorian’s body, he was rewarded by the sight of the magister biting his lip as he tried to hold still, willing back the urge to fuck Fenris’ mouth. “You’re... you’re going to drive me insane, you really are,” Dorian breathed.

“I like sucking cock, what can I say?” Fenris said before he went back to what he was doing for a while, enjoying the noises Dorian was making as he used every trick he knew to bring the magister to the edge of coming again. It wasn’t long before he had Dorian at the point of no longer being able to speak, panting raggedly as his head hung low, biting his lip hard as his thighs trembled.

“F-Fen-Fenris,” Dorian gasped hoarsely. “P-please....”

“Please what?” Fenris asked sweetly as he finally got to his knees and got the oil. He’d gotten a thick plug for himself that he was busy oiling while he waited for Dorian to plead with him to come.

“Please, I.... I’m so close,” panted Dorian. “Please... please fuck me.”

“In a moment,” Fenris groaned as he worked himself open quickly. He leaned his head against Dorian’s back as he worked the plug in and tried to calm himself. “Me...or a toy?” he gasped.

Dorian’s lips turned up in the merest hint of a smile. “Your choice,” he managed. His body was sheened in sweat, his hair dark with it. “Whatever... you wish.”

“Only if you promise to ...fuck,” Fenris broke off as he slowly fucked himself before taking Dorian again. “Sorry.. Its been a while since ...I…” 

Dorian managed a breathless laugh. “Are you pleasuring yourself, _amatus_?” he chuckled. “The least you could do is let me have fun too!” He smiled. “Though the sounds you’re making are, I will confess, quite enjoyable....”

“Yeah...has been too long since I got fucked,” Fenris replied before pulling back to oil himself. “Might be hard and fast...and I might be ...I might lose it,” he said as he slipped two oiled fingers into Dorian. “I want that big marble cock but too ...hard to not have it fall out.”

Dorian couldn’t help pushing back onto Fenris’ fingers to drive them deeper into his body. “Taking your time then?” he said quietly. “Go as hard and fast as you need to, _amatus_ , I -” He broke off and bit his lip as Fenris slipped a third finger in before twisting his wrist then pulling back at just the right angle to teasingly brush his sensitive spot. “I - I can take it,” Dorian managed to finish, his voice sliding up a little in pitch.

“Not... on purpose. Just trying not to come in a few seconds,” Fenris moaned before he lined his cock up and pushed back in. “So...tight,” he whimpered as he started to stroke, but found it difficult not to come with each stroke of the plug he’d slipped inside himself. 

Dorian groaned as he felt himself filled again, holding himself still as Fenris rocked into him. He was having to fight hard the urge to push back to meet each thrust, but it sounded like Fenris was having problems holding his own urges back. He let his head hang down, resting his weight against the ropes stretching his arms apart, kneeling there as Fenris stroked into his body. “Feels so good,” he murmured, enjoying the sensation of being held there, helpless. “Fenris... I know you’ll be hard still afterwards... or soon again. You can fuck me and come. Use me, _amatus_.”

The elf didn’t reply, he was too busy trying not fuck Dorian so hard he’d hurt him, or worse, snap him like a match. He simply growled and leaned forward to bite Dorian’s shoulder again as he snapped his hips harder, while he let his eyes close and just let himself feel.

Dorian lifted his head with a cry of shock as he felt Fenris’ teeth sinking into his bruised shoulder. “N-not so hard, _amatus_ , please?” he pleaded, trying to ignore the sharp feel of Fenris’ nails turning into claws as the elf curled them into his hips. “Dumat... Fenris?” he gasped as he felt the elf moving, rising up onto one knee to thrust more deeply into Dorian’s body. 

“Ok... ok….” Fenris rasped as he pulled back from biting and slowed his thrusts. “Fuck... this is ….” His voice tapered off as he focused on his own orgasm he felt building. The elf felt himself shifting even more as he kept thrusting, his thoughts split between how he was edging towards coming and how tight Dorian suddenly felt around his cock. 

Dorian was letting himself be caught up in the way Fenris was making him feel; the elf had brought him so close to the edge before backing off to open him up, bringing Dorian cresting back to the edge again before he slid into Dorian; and as the other man sped up he finally let himself start thrusting himself back onto Fenris’ cock. He gasped as each thrust seemed to strike a little deeper, filling him more and more until he felt painfully stretched - and yet there seemed to be more of the elf pounding into him. “Y-you were - were holding back on me, _a-amatus_!” he managed to gasp out disbelievingly. “G-give it to me - give it all to me!” 

Fenris growled in his ear, a deep rumble more suited to when he was fully shifted to his draconic form than when he was himself as he wrapped an arm around Dorian’s waist and let himself climax, his eyes closed and his other hand stroking Dorian in time to his erratic thrusting as he filled his lover.

Dorian gasped as he felt Fenris’ almost bruising strength, the arm around his waist holding him motionless as the other man fucked him almost brutally hard and fast. Between the arm holding him in place, the rope binding his wrists to the bedposts and the large hand pumping at his cock, Dorian was helpless. He didn’t think he had ever been fucked so hard and deep by the elf before; all he could do was hang his head down and take it whilst his own climax crested closer and closer, until with a loud groan he came in Fenris’ hand. His voice was drowned out by the loud, animalistic growl that Fenris gave just before Dorian felt the massive huge cock pulse inside him, the wet heat of his spend deep inside his body; exhausted, Dorian hung there, his body trembling now in the aftermath even as Fenris’ hips still rolled idly against him, the huge cock still sliding inside him. 

“S-st-still hard, love?” Dorian managed in a voice not much stronger than a whisper. He hadn’t been fucked quite senseless, but after earlier, it was a close thing - and he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t just pass out in Fenris’ arms any minute; he felt a little dizzy and light-headed and utterly exhausted.

Fenris nuzzled at Dorian’s neck and almost purred as he pressed kisses to the magister’s slick skin. “A little but ….enjoying how this toy feels in me.” His voice was rough and deep, thick as he leisurely rolled his hips. Dorian groaned, the feeling of Feris still filling him so full and thrusting even that slowly inside him just this side of too much to his overly-sensitive nerves now.

“I don’t think you’ve ever fucked me so deeply,” he murmured. “I feel so full... stretched....” He tried to lift his head but gave it up. “You can fuck me again if you want, but I don’t think I have it in me to come a third time,” he tried to laugh weakly. “I think if my wrists weren’t tied to the bed posts then I would probably be flat on my face by now....” He turned his head slightly towards the side Fenris’ voice sounded closest to. “You’ve not fucked me senseless but, Dumat, it’s a close thing. Just... please leave the blindfold on when you untie me, love?”

“Not … sure I can come again but you feel so good,” Fenris huffed in his ear as he made himself stop thrusting so he could reach up and untie Dorian. “I’ll fuck you more... If you do me a favor, and put one of the toys you can feel in me then I’ll take you nice and slow, I might even suck you off again.” He realized how low his voice had gone, and belatedly noticed his tail was flicking lazily along his leg. “I think I changed while I was fucking you.”

Dorian turned his head slightly. Now Fenris had stopped thrusting, he was aware of how his arms were trembling with the strain; as Fenris untied him, it was only Fenris’ arm around his waist that held him up. “What... what do you mean, changed?” he managed. “Dumat... if you’re not sure you can come again then why do you still feel so huge inside me?” This last was said almost plaintively.

“I’m a dragon remember?” Fenris said lazily as he bit Dorian but there was nothing behind it besides wanting affection. “My tail even came out during that last round, maybe my dick changed too?” he rumbled.

Behind the blindfold, Dorian blinked. “Please don’t tell me I’ve just been fucked by an actual, literal dragon; I think over half of Tevinter would want to kill me through sheer jealousy,” he chuckled weakly. “That damned dragon worship thing and all. Though, Dumat, I _feel_ like I’ve certainly been on the receiving end of a dragon. I don’t think I even mind the biting so much...” He groaned. “I’m exhausted. If you’re going to fuck me again, could I lie down for this one?”

“Dorian... You’ve been getting fucked by a dragon since the temple of Mythal,” Fenris rumbled in his ear as he let them both down to the bed. He was content to just roll his hips lazily to get the friction of still being so deep into Dorian and the feel of the toy that was still in him. “Wish you could fuck me, but this is nice too,” Fenris said softly.

Dorian was making soft little moaning sounds with each roll of Fenris’ hips as the elf’s large cock continued to fill him with no sign of softening. He was beginning to reach that hypersensitive point post-coitus, and the continuing friction inside was becoming almost unbearably too much. “You... you know what I mean, _amatus_ ,” he chuckled weakly. “I may have been fucked by a dragon, but one that’s in a most attractive elf form!” He shivered as each lazy roll of Fenris’ hips caused the elf’s cock to brush against his prostate over and over, slowly, which really shouldn’t have been possible, he distantly mused.

“Are you ok, I can stop if you need me to,” Fenris growled in his ear. 

“Just... just a little sensitive,” Dorian disagreed, shaking his head. “I can carry on if... if you want to, _amatus_?” Fenris’ next slow thrust elicited a slightly louder moan from him.

“What I want versus your well being are two different things, love,” Fenris replied as he started to pull away and found he couldn’t. “I… Dorian, how do I feel? Inside you I mean,” he asked as he tried not to panic.

Dorian gasped as it felt as though Fenris were starting to tear him - but whilst pulling out rather than pushing in; without realising he was doing it, he reached back and clutched at the elf’s hip, holding him still. “Don’t - don’t, don’t move,” he managed to stammer. “You’re going to tear me open! Too - Dumat, what’s happened? You’re - too big, it’s too big but - but _how_?” As Fenris tried to pull out again, Dorian’s voice rose to a panicked shriek. “ _Venhedis - don’t move!!_ ” He was shuddering as he lay there, his hand holding Fenris still. “Felt... like you would rip me open,” he managed in a frightened whisper. “Hurts.... Please... don’t move, Fenris!”

“Easy, I was just trying to find a way for us to lie down together. I won’t move unless you do so first. This… hasn’t ever happened to me,” Fenris said as he folded his wings back and rolled them both to the side. “I’m not a dog, I don’t… understand.” 

Dorian gave a small panted whimper of distress. “Oh dear... now I _really_ know how it feels to be fucked by a dragon,” he managed weakly. “The Bull would have been so jealous....” He shivered. “Please don’t move,” he whispered again. “I don’t want to tear. I’m... I’m frankly scared, Fenris.”

“Let’s just lie here, and be quiet,” Fenris said softly as he regretted using a toy on himself as they lay together. “I can’t stay like this forever, or even a few hours I’m guessing. I’ll just be quiet and still. Maybe one day we can laugh at this but right now, I’m still hard, I can’t move and the toy in me isn’t helping.” 

Dorian had gone rather quiet; with the blindfold on and the magister facing away from Fenris in any case, it was hard to tell how the Tevinter mage was feeling or reacting. He lay still, curled up a little, his body still sheened in sweat that was slowly drying on his skin.

It was very quiet; the light through the window slowly changed in colour as the afternoon rolled on towards early evening; and then Fenris heard the quiet scraping sounds of lockpicks from below. Whereas before he might have been furious at the Antivan elf for disobeying his orders to stay out of his office, now Fenris could only feel relief at the thought they weren’t alone now. Dorian didn’t feel so tight around him now but he still hadn’t dared pull away, even though he weren’t even certain Dorian were still conscious.

There was the sound of quiet booted feet below, and then Zevran’s voice.

“Fenris? Is something wrong?”

“Come up here, please,” Fenris called out, unsure how the Antivan would react to seeing them joined like that, after they had been playing and left him out. The ladder creaked a little as Zevran climbed up, and then the Antivan’s blond head popped up through the hatch.

“Fenris? What is -” Zevran fell silent as he reached the top of the ladder and took a step closer to the bed. He moved around the bed to stand on Dorian’s side, staring down at the blindfolded magister who didn’t stir. Then he glanced over to Fenris, taking in the elf’s arm around Dorian’s waist. “What is going on?”

“I...changed more than I expected when we were in bed. It seems I became more dragon-like and I...was going to tear him if I pulled out,” Fenris admitted before tapping Dorian’s face to see if he was still awake. “I think he’s passed out.”

Zevran drew a blade from his sleeve and leaned over to deftly slice open the blindfold and remove it. “His eyes are closed,” he nodded as he sheathed the blade and stepped back. “So. How does he feel inside? Too tight?” He stalked slowly around the bed, staring down at them both. Fenris could feel now how limp and relaxed Dorian’s body was, no longer so deliciously tight around his cock as he’d been earlier.

“Not anymore, no. He was afraid I’d tear him if I kept trying to pull out. This isn’t normal, Zevran!” Fenris caught himself before he could start panicking. 

“You are a dragon,” shrugged Zevran. “What is normal for a dragon? But do not panic. This has happened once before with Leto and I. I think it was likely more painful for me than for Dorian, as he is a bigger man than I am. But still, it is well you held still.” He crawled onto the bed behind Fenris. “Will you permit me to touch?”

“Yeah...I’m sorry,” Fenris said as he tried to keep calm and not make Dorian hurt any worse than he already was. 

Zevran spooned up behind Fenris and gently slipped his hand between the two men’s bodies; Fenris felt the Antivan’s cool hand slide down his abdomen to curl around the base of his cock then the touch of two of Zevran’s fingers sliding along his cock into Dorian’s body. “I think we are in luck,” murmured Zevran. “It has been long enough that you are no longer knotted; I think he is so very deep under and relaxed that you should be able to pull free without harming him. But hold still a moment longer.”

He slipped his hand free then moved around to kneel in front of Dorian. He slid his hand gently up between Dorian’s thighs to press gently against his perineum. “Now... pull out slowly,” said Zevran softly.

The Tevinter elf complied, pulling out slowly until he could roll over on his back and he winced as he felt the plug rub against him as he moved. “I did something dumb, well besides... knotting like a cur...there’s a toy in me and I don’t know if I can get it out.”

Zevran had straightened and was fetching a bowl of water and cloths. “Oh? Well, we shall have to do something about that, eh?” he replied as he brought the bowl around to Fenris. “Please heat the water? I do not wish to wash Dorian with cold water and disturb him; I think he should sleep. It looks like he has been very thoroughly fucked, no?” He smirked faintly. “If you were still hard, you should have waited a little longer - or come to find Zevran, hmm? I am used to being taken by a dragon, after all.”

Fenris’ eyes widened at his statement, even as he raised a hand and heated the water. He let his hand fall to the bed and sighed. “This... happened for the first time tonight. It scared us.” 

“Ah, so you were not aware you could change this much then?” replied Zevran. He reached down and Fenris felt him take hold of the base of the plug. “Would you like me to remove this?” he added.

“Yeah, it’s … no longer fun.” Fenris said as he rolled to his stomach, then glanced at the elf. “Unless you can do something about that.”

Zevran gently twisted the plug free and set it aside. “Perhaps I can in a minute; let me take care of Dorian first, hmm?” He gave Fenris a playful slap on the arse then picked up the bowl of water to move back around the bed to clean Dorian up.

Fenris turned his head and just listened to Zevran taking care of their lover, noting where the other elf was in the room until he felt the bed dip again. “My Zevran has used that marble toy on me, its been a long time since then.”

“This one?” asked Zevran as he picked up the large marble phallus. “It _is_ quite the beast, is it not?” He hefted it in his hand admiringly. “I would be curious how it feels myself, but perhaps some other time, eh?” He patted Fenris on the backside again. “Were you wearing that plug all this time then?” he added as he picked up the bottle of oil then flicked the cap off.

“Yes...I was hoping Dorian would have used something on me after he’d ...finished and I’d untied him. I was...really hoping for that, it's been a long time and I ...just....” Fenris bit his lip as he watched Zevran with the oil. 

“I have already told you I find it very hard to be the dominant one around you,” said Zevran quietly. “But if you need this, perhaps we can find a compromise, eh?”

“I’m not asking you to dominate me...for Dumat’s sake, you can fuck someone without it being about domination!” Fenris whimpered in frustration.

Zevran glanced away. “Were you any other man then I would agree,” he said softly. “And if I had never met Leto, then I would have no problem doing whatever you ask. I am afraid that I have been under Leto’s sway too long. But I think I know a way we may both be content.” He gestured at the ropes. “If you bind my wrists to one of the bedposts, you may ride upon me, yes? And then you will be as fucked as you wish, and I will still feel at ease that I am in my rightful place.” His lips twisted in a wry half-smile. “I promise you that I will fuck you as hard as I am physically capable of just as well upon my back, _car-_ ” 

He broke off and dropped his gaze to the oil in his hand. “Forgive me. You do not like it when I call you that.”

“It’s fine, you can call me that. I was being an ass about it,” Fenris said quietly as he laid there. “I’m much bigger and heavier, and considering I already hurt Dorian I don’t trust that I won’t hurt you by riding.”

Zevran shrugged. “Leto has ridden me on occasion,” he replied. “This is how we usually do it; I tied down upon my back, he on top. It is actually easier on me if my ankles are free, so I think with you I am _less_ likely to be hurt, my friend. So - shall I strip, then?”

“I’m not in the mood to ride, but you can use me as you wish Zevran,” Fenris offered quietly. He watched the other elf in case he didn’t like that option.

Zevran sighed and bowed his head. “And thus we are at an impasse, because I cannot use you as you wish, and you cannot use _me_ as _I_ wish.” He sat back and recorked the oil, not looking up at Fenris.

“I’m sorry,” Fenris’ voice hitched and he tried to keep Zevran from seeing the disappointment before he pulled a pillow over his head and tried to keep calm. After a while he tossed the pillow aside and looked at Zevran. “I’ll try if you want, I don’t want you to be unsatisfied.”

Zevran didn’t lift his head. “It is not a matter of my being satisfied or unsatisfied,” he said quietly. “You have need. I wish to help. But it seems I cannot help in the way you would wish me to. If you think that you can be satisfied with my poor solution, then I will be content, and I will bring you rope so you can restrain me. But if this will not work for you then I have nothing else to offer.” He glanced away. “And then we will both be unsatisfied, and I will have failed you.”

The white-haired elf simply nodded and grabbed another pillow to rest on. “I can’t make either of you happy, sorry I’m such a failure at this,” Fenris said before he turned away. It wasn’t either man’s fault but he was still scared over the changes he’d gone under with Dorian and that need of his wasn’t being met so the elf was at the end of his rope with wanting to get shagged like he’d done for the others.

Zevran sat back on the end of the bed near the sleeping Dorian’s feet and stared down at his hands as they rested in his lap. “The failure here is mine,” he said softly. 

“It’s not your fault I want what you can’t give,” Fenris replied before he curled up and faced the wall. “I’ll go for a walk if you want to sleep, I can’t stop my mind from racing.”

“It is not yet time for sleep; there is yet another two hours or more until sunset,” Zevran pointed out quietly. “But one of us should stay with Dorian I think.” He didn’t lift his head.

“I’m exhausted... I’ll stay, and you can too. If...you don’t mind,” Fenris said with a glance over his shoulder. 

“If you wish me to stay, then... yes, I will stay,” Zevran nodded, not looking up.

“I wish I had something better than ‘I’m sorry’,” Fenris said quietly as he got up to fetch the pillow he’d tossed aside. He spotted the bloodstains from earlier and without realizing it made a low, distressed noise. 

Zevran’s head jerked up and he glanced around for the source of Fenris’ distress, then blinked at the bloodstains. He frowned, glancing back at Fenris in incomprehension. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, his tone one of puzzlement. He gestured towards the bite marks on Dorian. “Did you go too far there too? But... Dorian has always enjoyed being bitten...?”

“Sorry...was struck by something from my past. How ...my Zevran and I played with knives, and biting...our Anders thought we’d been murdered or attacked since we fell asleep and he bled more during our nap. I think I’m losing my mind,” Fenris said as he took one of the chairs and tried to center himself, and figure out why he was so off-kilter.

Zevran shrugged. “It is only a little blood,” he pointed out. “I have seen far more of my own spilled than that and not been worried.” He grinned briefly. “So, you like to bite your own Zevran, eh? And he lets you play with knives upon him? He and I are not so very different then... I had wondered.” He had slipped a knife from his wrist sheath and he flipped it thoughtfully in his hand. “It has been so long since I had a bed partner I could actually _trust_ with a blade in their hand, I think I have forgotten what it feels like.” He glanced down at Dorian, then tucked the blade away again.

“I don’t trust myself with even a spoon right now,” Fenris muttered crossly, then realized he had no reason to snap at the other elf. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I think I need...sleep and dinner. Or something to settle my mind.” 

Zevran shrugged. “Why not go for a visit to Anders then? It is why I came, in fact; he asked if you would return, and so I thought I would come and see if you were intending to come back.” He set the key on the bed then leaned back. “He was most anxious, and I promised him that you would come visit him later. I did not expect all of this, however - it is as well I did not simply take the key to Josephine for her to make a duplicate with, eh?”

“Alright.” Fenris washed quickly and grabbed the key before heading off to visit with the blond mage and hopefully find some peace. 

As he approached the blond’s prison, he heard quiet singing in Anderfels tongue; Anders was singing softly to himself - a children’s lullaby that Fenris had heard his own Anders sing to his daughter Ellowynne. His voice fell silent as Fenris halted outside the door.

Fenris entered the room slowly, showing he was alone this time. “May I visit for a bit?” he asked quietly. “Just me this time.”

Anders was sitting crosslegged in front of the fire again; he had turned to watch with a wary expression as the door opened, but visibly relaxed when only Fenris entered. “Of course,” he nodded. He rose to his feet and gave Fenris an almost shy smile. “Sorry about the screaming last time. I... thought he’d come to kill me. After all, the last time I laid eyes on him, he _was_ trying to do that. Kill me, I mean. Well... the demon that was possessing me, but really that’s the same thing. It was him who stuck the sword through me, wasn’t it?”

“Actually... I think it was me,” Fenris admitted. “Though I’m not sure anymore. Can I just sit with you for a while?” he asked. 

Anders blinked, then looked bemused. “Oh. Well... you... huh. Well, I forgive you then. Though that really hurt - well, until I died. If anyone ever asks you, getting stabbed through the back with a sword is definitely on my list of ways I would rather prefer not to die, thanks.” He ran a hand through his hair, then sat down on the floor again. “Sorry, I’m rambling,” he added, dropping his gaze to the bare wooden floor. “Been a bit of a day, really.”

“Tell me about it,” Fenris replied before he sat next to Anders and sighed. “I’m sorry about earlier, Zevran insisted.” 

“He did apologise,” said Anders quietly. “Sort of. In and around being in shock, and there was some crying involved. I... I think I blanked out for a while.” He lifted a hand to rub his forehead. “Some things came back to me. A lot of stuff I... really didn’t want coming back. And other stuff that was just plain confusing. I think maybe not remembering was better than what I _did_ recall, except... well. Things feel somehow clearer now. Less....” He waved his hand vaguely. “Fuzzy around the edges.”

“I keep saying it a lot but I’m sorry,” Fenris replied quietly.

“Don’t be,” said Anders with a shrug. “It wasn’t your fault. If I’d never taken Justice into me, I could never have corrupted him like this... though none of us could have known what effect losing Hawke could have on any of us. I think part of me just... gave up, died with Endrin. I didn’t have a reason to be anything other than Justice’s tool; I had no way of knowing at that point that it was too late for either of us. And I wonder if things would have been different if it hadn’t been Kirkwall, or if Endrin hadn’t died... but the simple truth is that no-one could have known, least of all either Justice or myself.” He looked down at the wooden hand, then curled it slowly into a fist before relaxing it again. “And I wonder how much more it was corrupted by the anchor. I... remember Vengeance removing my - my arm. He didn’t keep that hidden from me. I think I managed to black out though. I didn’t come back to any sort of awareness until after Dagna had made the new arm - and he had set the anchor into the hand himself. It... it shouldn’t have remained that close to me. He did it so Solas couldn’t have the anchor back but....” 

Anders sighed and glanced at Fenris. “I’m sorry,” he said with a small shrug. “I don’t think you really came here to hear me bemoan my missing arm or what might have been if I hadn’t been so stupid, did you? You haven’t had a good day yourself, from the looks and sounds of things.”

“No...I really haven’t. Well, not all of it was bad, but right now I could just do with a friend to sit while you braid my hair - if you still want to, that is?” Fenris asked

Anders gave him a gentle smile. “Sure,” he nodded. “Only, perhaps we ought to go upstairs, because you’re rather tall - we’re too close in height for me to be able to reach like this. If we go upstairs, I can sit on the edge of the bed and you can sit on the floor. Besides, to be honest sitting here like this is killing my back.” He smiled ruefully. “I seem to have lost a decade of my life somewhere, and my body isn’t as young as it once was.”

“Ok, whatever is fine for you, Anders,” Fenris headed up and took a spot on the floor as he waited, and realized they were in the other man’s bedroom. 

Anders followed him up, his bedding under one arm. “Figured I may as well bring this back up here,” he shrugged as he threw the bedding on the bed before he sat down on the bed just behind the elf. “Of course, this would be easier if I had a comb or something, but I’ll do what I can with my fingers.”

He set to work to gently comb out the tangles with his fingers, teasing them apart carefully one by one before he carded his fingers through, neatening the long strands before he separated it out into sections. 

“Do I really want to ask what happened?” he asked after he’d braided a couple of sections. “No worries if it’s not something you want to talk about... but it just seems to me perhaps you could use someone to talk to?” He smiled gently. “A bit like the last time you came to visit me alone, only hopefully without the templars showing up later.”

“There will be no templars,” said Fenris sharply.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Anders softly. “I’m also rather glad you are Fenris and not Leto, for the record; I don’t think I would still be breathing otherwise.”

“How much do you remember, then?” asked Fenris, surprised.

“Enough,” replied Anders bleakly. “Everything that Vengeance allowed me to see, at least. He left me in darkness a lot, which has made putting the pieces together rather hard. I’m still not sure how much of what he let me see isn’t just hallucinations from too long spent trapped in the darkness in the back of my own mind, mind you - it’s just as well that with Vengeance possessing me, no other demon could get a toehold. Not that they didn’t try to tempt me, mind, but I knew that no matter how horrific possession by him was, it was still infinitely better than becoming an abomination of the more traditional variety and killing innocent people before dying very messily. Leto was pretty good at reining in Vengeance from his more murderous tendencies, thankfully - except in one area, unfortunately. I know far more about blood magic than I ever wished to learn - though thankfully it seems that was all Vengeance, and I’m still a spirit healer.”

“I’m glad,” said Fenris. Without fully thinking about what he was doing, he caught Anders’ hand in his and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of the blond healer’s’ wrist. It wasn’t until he heard Anders’ soft intake of breath that he recalled himself. He began to stammer out an apology.

“No, no, it.... I don’t mind,” said Anders faintly. “You just... startled me, is all.”

“It’s nice spending this time with you, and you’re the only one who just lets me be me,” Fenris admitted before he took Anders’ hand in his again and kissed his palm. “I’ll stop if you don’t like it.”

“Far from it,” said Anders faintly. He made no attempt to take his hand back. “I’ve been rather lonely for far too long to mind. Since -” He swallowed hard. “Since Endrin, really. Leto cared in his own way, but... well. After Endrin died, I think he saw his role as more of a guardian, in a way. And then, the more I lost myself, the less there was of me to form a connection with anyone else. The last time anyone kissed me was in the Wardens.”

“I can imagine how Leto felt, losing his Hawke,” Fenris said as he got up and sat next to Anders. “That long?” he replied as he considered what he was going to do, and if it was something Anders would even want from him. 

Anders nodded. “It didn’t seem to matter with Justice there, but then I got to Kirkwall and there was Hawke. And... Maker, I never told him, but I loved him. I spent three long years aching for him every night, and then just when I’d made up my mind to finally tell him... he took it into his head to help Merrill with that bloody mirror. And that was that.” He shrugged. “So, no sex since the Wardens, and no real human love or affection since Hawke. Who never even knew.”

“Damn …” Fenris said as he brushed some of the other man’s reddish blond hair from his face. “Did you love Leto then, and Endrin?” 

Anders dropped his gaze to his hands, and nodded, swallowing hard, for the moment clearly unable to speak.

“I… want to show you affection, partially because I miss my Anders but also because you shouldn’t be bereft of touch for so long,” Fenris said quietly.

Anders held still, then dropped his face into his hands with a soft sob of anguish. Slowly he turned towards Fenris, half-curling into his side as he wept softly. Fenris found himself lifting his arm and pulling Anders close, holding the other man until the paroxysm of weeping had eased. Anders lifted his head slowly to gaze up at Fenris, one hand lifting to stroke Fenris’ cheek gently. “Thank you for caring,” he whispered; and then he closed the space between them to press his lips to Fenris’ mouth in a light kiss.

“Before I do anything, are you able… do you want this from me?” Fenris asked again, even as he started to card his fingers through Anders’ hair. Anders gave him a half smile.

“Am I in my right mind enough to give consent, you mean?” he asked. “Believe me, my thinking and my mind are clearer than they’ve been in over a decade. Yes, Fenris, I consent and yes, I want this.”

“Good, I was worried. Can you cast a silence for us?” Fenris asked before he leaned in to worry Anders’ neck and slide a hand under his tunic.Anders chuckled.

“Yes, a silence would be far preferable to me having to put on a show of screaming to make people think you’re interrogating me,” he nodded. “I’d far rather be screaming for a far more enjoyable reason.” He gestured and Fenris felt the silence spell settle around the room. “Now... would where your hand is now suggest you’d rather I were out of this shirt? Which is yours, I should point out....” He gasped as Fenris bit a little harder, then arched his back as Fenris’ fingers found a nipple and pinched it hard. “Yes... yes, you can do that to me all you like,” he breathed.

“What do you like? I won’t assume you like what my Anders does. Anything off limits?” Fenris asked as he tugged the shirt off and resumed nibbling on his new bedmate. Anders groaned, then laughed breathlessly.

“Well, things that involve bodily fluids other than, well, the obvious....” Anders reached down and palmed Fenris’ groin. “I do love swallowing down cock - and I do hope I’ll get to have yours down my throat at some point, because this feels like quite a handful and I always did like a challenge. Uh... well, you can tweak my nipples all you like, because Maker, is that a huge turn-on for me. Hmm... that’s rather distracting you know,” he murmured as Fenris bit a little harder. “It’s very nice though, so please don’t stop.... I don’t mind being tied up, but please don’t blindfold or gag me. I... might panic if you blindfold me and I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t mind spanking - but please, no whips or belts or anything like that. Had enough of them for a lifetime. And no knives. Anything else... ask me?”

“I’ve had my fill of blindfolding people for a while. Do you prefer to give or receive? I can do either,” Fenris asked before he resumed touching and kissing Anders.

Anders panted slightly as Fenris kissed him. “Both... either... either’s good,” he gasped. “Whatever you want; as long as I get to suck your cock first I don’t care! Just promise me that?” he pleaded.

“Praise Andraste for small favors,” Fenris said as he leaned back to unlace his pants.

Anders leaned forward, his hands reaching for the waistband of Fenris’ pants. “Please - let me?” he pleaded. “And I don’t care if you come down my throat or over my face - whatever you like.” He paused. “Actually... good point. What are _your_ limits? I don’t want to accidentally hit one without meaning to.”

“No blood play, or ...name calling, yet. I need to work my way up to it with you,” Fenris said as he laid back and let Anders get him undressed.

“I wouldn’t dream of calling you anything other than Fenris,” replied Anders as he slid Fenris’ pants down to his knees then paused to admire the elf’s erection. “Maker, but that’s a beautiful sight,” he added. “Uh... bloodplay... ugh, same. After what I saw of what Vengeance did... yeah, no knives or bloodplay. Let’s stick to just biting. Though not biting _this_.” He chuckled before he settled himself on his knees between Fenris’ thighs then nuzzled the elf’s cock, running his long aquiline nose up the underside of it then back before following with his tongue. He swirled his tongue about the head with an appreciative sound before wrapping his lips about it and swallowing Fenris down slowly.

“Yes.. yes…” Fenris moaned as he rested his hand on Anders head and grabbed his hair tight. “Anders…”

Anders moaned encouragement as he swallowed Fenris down again, hollowing his cheeks as he sank down onto the elf’s shaft, savouring his flavour as he nuzzled against the base of the elf’s cock then slowly pulled back before plunging back, relaxing his jaw to let Fenris’ cock slide into his throat. Fenris realised that either Anders must have no gag reflex or else supreme self control as the blond mage took him in again, bobbing his head a little faster.

“Maker...so good at this.” Fenris moaned. He felt Anders smile around his cock; as he glanced down, he saw Anders was watching him with those dark amber eyes, his lips reddened and stretched wide around his cock. The very sight inflamed Fenris, and he grasped a handful of the dark gold hair and wrapped it around his fist, holding it tight before he thrust his cock further down Anders’ throat, his hand in Anders’ hair holding the mage still. 

“Anders,” he whispered. “Can I choke you with my cock? Is breathplay allowed? Blink once for no, twice for yes.”

Anders looked up at him and very deliberately blinked once, and then once again.

“Thank you,” breathed Fenris, and then he thrust his cock down Anders’ throat, pressing Anders’ face into his groin until the blond couldn’t breathe. Then he started fucking Anders’ mouth and throat in earnest, every few strokes plunging deep into Anders’ throat and choking him. Anders continued to suck and work Fenris’ flesh with his tongue, trying to swallow around it each time it thrust into his throat.

The only warning he had that he was about to come was a tightness and tingling in his balls, a swirling heat in his groin and then he was coming hard down Anders’ throat and the blond was choking on Fenris’ cock as he tried to swallow. Fenris relaxed his hold on Anders’ hair as he pulled back enough for Anders to swallow his spend; as Fenris pulled out entirely he left a smear of his seed across the other man’s chin and cheek.

Anders braced himself against Fenris’ thighs as he coughed and panted. “Maker, but that was... oh Andraste, I’ve missed that!” he gasped.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” asked Fenris as he leaned forward and slid a hand gently into Anders’ hair, brushing away a little of his spend from Anders’ cheek with his thumb.

“Maker, _no_!” laughed Anders breathlessly. He tilted his face up, and without thinking twice Fenris pulled him up on his knees to kiss him long, hard and deep. He could taste himself as Anders moaned - a pleading, needy sound. He pulled away a little.

“Anders,” he murmured. “I want you to fuck me. Can you do that for me?”

Anders opened his eyes and stared up at Fenris. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I can do that.”

Fenris moved back on the bed then lay down, staring at Anders as the blond followed him onto the bed to kneel between his thighs once more. There was a whisper of magic as Anders called up grease in the palm of his hand; Anders glanced down at it and smirked. “Glad I can remember that one,” he remarked before he coated his fingers then slipped two into Fenris’ entrance. His eyes widened a little as he found Fenris still quite open and loose from wearing the marble plug for so long as he lay with Dorian.

“Were you hoping I’d agree to this?” he murmured as he glanced up at Fenris. “Or were you just playing with yourself earlier?”

“The latter... sort of,” Fenris confessed. 

Anders smiled as he slicked himself up then lined up the head of his cock with Fenris’ entrance. He eased into Fenris slowly and carefully until he was fully seated inside the elf and leaning forward with his hands braced either side of Fenris. “Is this alright?” he asked softly. Fenris bit his lip and nodded, enjoying the feeling of Anders’ long shaft buried deep inside him; it was a sensation he hadn’t had in far too long. Then Anders rolled his hips, and Fenris forgot everything but the here and now.

Anders was a considerate lover; he may not have had sex in far too long, but he’d lost none of his skill or talent in that time as he took Fenris - slowly at first, then slowly speeding up until finally he was snapping his hips hard and fast into Fenris as the elf swore and pleaded, one hand tangled in Anders’ hair and yanking hard as the blond groaned. Fenris could tell from the way Anders’ breath stuttered that he was close, and then Anders had lifted a hand to curl it about Fenris’ erection and was pumping him hard in time to his own thrusts.

Fenris was rapidly losing himself, unaware that the hand he curled about Anders to urge him to pump faster had now sprouted claws that were slowly digging into the blond’s wrists. He was unaware, too, of the other changes that were coming over him - though as Anders flicked his eyes down to the elf’s erection, they widened as he realised how much larger the elf’s cock had grown and changed. 

Then Fenris was coming hard, and from the sudden grunt and shudder, the hot wetness deep inside, he knew Anders had come too.

Anders’ hips slowed to a lazy rolling motion as he braced himself over Fenris, gasping, his body sheened with sweat and strands of darkened blond hair clung to his face. He glanced down at Fenris’ cock. “How... how is it you’re still hard?” he exclaimed breathlessly. “And - Maker... it’s... Fenris, your cock is huge!”

He glanced up at Fenris, his eyes wide. As the elf stared down at him, Anders licked his lips unconsciously. “Fenris,” he breathed. “I want to ride you.”

Fenris remembered Dorian’s panic as they knotted, and he began to sit up. “I don’t think -” he began hastily, but Anders had already pulled free of his body and was pressing him back down to the bed.

“Please,” he pleaded. “It’s been so long. Please, Fenris - let me ride. You have no idea how much I want to feel you inside me.”

In spite of his inward misgivings, Fenris slowly nodded, then lifted himself on his elbows to watch as Anders cleaned himself off before rising up on his knees, calling up more grease in the palm of his hand as he started to work himself open.

“Please, let me?” asked Fenris; Anders glanced up, then nodded as Fenris motioned him over. The elf sat up and oiled his fingers from Anders’ palm, then gestured for the human mage to straddle his waist. He steadied Anders with a hand to his hip, as he slid his oiled fingers into Anders’ body. Two fingers became three, then four as he stretched Anders’ willing body, reaching up into him and thrusting steadily until Anders was panting and shivering. He took more grease from Anders’ shaking hand and anointed his cock, and then finally he guided Anders back and pressed slowly, steadily into Anders, his hands on the mage’s hips pressing him down as he slowly impaled the slender man on his cock.

“Oh - Maker... so big,” Anders gasped as he felt himself being breeched and then stretched almost painfully by Fenris’ cock. “I feel so full!”

“Too much?” asked Fenris, anxiously; Anders laughed breathlessly.

“Maker, _no!_ ” he exclaimed. “It feels fantastic!” He leaned forward to brace himself on Fenris’ chest, then closed his eyes with a gasp as Fenris gave his hips an experimental roll. Anders felt so good, so tight around his cock.

Anders opened his eyes and stared down at Fenris, pupils large and dark with his arousal. “Fenris,” he whispered. “Fuck me.”

Fenris grinned and snapped his hips up into Anders’ body, hard, and was rewarded by a loud cry as Anders threw his head back. Gripping the slender waist, Fenris began thrusting up into Anders’ body as the blond man panted and cried out, begging for more, harder, faster, _more_. 

And Fenris indulged him, loving the way Anders steadily came apart and undone, each panted breath a soft cry as Fenris sped up, faster and faster.

Anders’ eyes widened as he felt Fenris’ knot swelling inside him, stretching him even further. “Maker... you have no idea how _good_ this feels... Fenris... Oh Maker. So full. So good, so....” He broke off with a low groan, feeling how the knot pulled and stretched him, anchoring him in place, impaled on Fenris’ cock and helpless.

And then Fenris came inside him with a low cry, and Anders gasped as he felt himself filled with Fenris’ spend deep inside - hot, a pulsing in his body, held fast by the knot. He felt an answering rush of warmth in his own groin as his cock stirred, slowly growing hard again as he rolled his own hips and felt the knot inside pressing on his sensitive spot.

Still panting, Fenris grinned as he watched Anders grinding himself down onto the knot buried inside him, losing himself again as his cock stiffened. He reached up, one hand curling around the other man’s shaft whilst with the other hand he pinched and flicked Anders’ nipple. The blond mage gasped and shuddered as Fenris pumped him faster, rolling his hips slowly to grind the knot against Anders’ sweet spot; and with a shudder and a low cry, Anders came again, utterly undone.

“Oh sweet Andraste,” Anders moaned. “I’ll suck your cock as often as you like if you’ll promise me you’ll fuck me like this afterwards....”

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” asked Fenris quietly; Anders shook his head, still trying to catch his breath.

“Never felt better,” he assured the elf. “Maker, it’s been years since I’ve been this thoroughly fucked. You have no idea how good this feels. I feel so full. Please tell me we’ll be here like this a while? It feels... oh, Maker....”

“Probably about an hour,” replied Fenris carefully. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Anders nodded. “Just exhausted,” he replied.

Fenris slowly and cautiously sat up, slipping one hand around Anders’ waist whist bracing himself with the other as he moved them back up the bed until the elf could rest his back against the headboard; and them he tugged a pillow around so he could lay Anders down between his legs, still joined together by the knot that held Fenris’ cock firmly deep inside Anders’ body.

Anders chuckled weakly. “I take it back; he murmured. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ been this thoroughly fucked out before. I’m serious, Fenris; you can do this to me as often as you like. I’ll suck your cock as much as you want if you’ll only promise me you’ll fuck me like this again.”

Fenris could only stare down at him, marvelling quietly at the difference between Anders’ response and that of Dorian. He found himself contemplating fucking Anders’ mouth and then taking the blond like this again, and found himself stirred at the thought. 

As he stared down at Anders, who was drifting now in a satisfied, warm post-coital daze with a dreamy smile on his face, eyes half-closed, Fenris pictured the man on his knees beneath his desk, between Fenris’ thighs.... Anders sucking his cock as Fenris worked; Anders kneeling there, Fenris’ spend smeared across his face, in his hair, dripping from his chin....and then Fenris fucking Anders hard over the desk afterwards. 

“What are you thinking?” murmured Anders drowsily.

“Oh, just all the things I’m going to do to you,” smiled Fenris.

“I can’t wait,” replied Anders as he closed his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tries to help Aeolus, Ellowynne reveals what has caused the Veil to thin - and Isabela wants payback.

Leto frowned, worried.

He’d been on his way back to rejoin Aeolus, a tray with a loaf of bread, some cheese and two bowls of stew in his hands when he’d encountered Invictus with Ser Amell and Knight Commander Hawke - Invictus’ younger brother - all striding in the direction of the Rookery. Invictus had cast him a brief, grim nod, his attention clearly elsewhere as all three headed up to Zevran’s rooms as he turned aside to return to his own room.

He’d returned there several hours earlier to find Ellowynne looking more herself, thankfully; she was calm and collected as she sat on the edge of his bed, talking quietly with Aeolus - who was looking frankly bloody awful, if Leto were being honest. Whilst down below in the hidden staircase, it had been hard to see the damage clearly; but in the daylight from his bedroom window the ruin of Aeolus’ face was clearer to see.

Aeolus was still covered in blood that was almost dry; it was splashed over the injured half of his face, down the side of his neck and had splattered across his left shoulder and down the front of his leather vest. It stained dark his red braids and there were flecks on his left arm in places. Though Leto had managed to heal the worst of the damage, it had to be said that his healing was rudimentary at best and tended towards the “stop this person from bleeding out and dying, and get them on their feet and moving again” style of healing rather than the avoidance of scarring; designed to patch up someone in the field and get them back into the fight as quickly as possible. It had been self-taught, unlike Anders who had had the benefit of a Circle education in healing which was honed further in the field with the Wardens - and further still in the years he spent healing selflessly in the Darktown clinic. But by the time Leto’s magic finally manifested itself, Anders had been long ago taken over by Vengeance, and there were no other healers in the Inquisition for Leto to learn from.

Leto had healed the fractured skull and bone, stopped the bleeding and dealt with the worst of the concussion, but it had to be said that Aeolus looked a mess. His nose was crooked, and his face was scarred where Meneris’ fist had split open the skin; the bones of his face had healed unevenly and he was still badly bruised where blood had pooled beneath the skin. His bruised eyelid could barely close over the empty socket where his missing eye once was.

Ellowynne had departed soon after they’d shared lunch together, and now Leto had fetched dinner for himself and Aeolus. The white-haired elf had no idea where Aeolus had been staying, but the half-blind tattooed elf was in no fit state to go anywhere right now. He was slumped in the same chair Leto had left him in, both eyes closed though the good eye opened as Leto set down the tray of food.

“We should get you cleaned up before we eat,” said Leto. Aeolus regarded him sombrely for a moment then nodded and stood, moving over to the wash basin; Leto had to put a hand up to steady him as Aeolus stumbled slightly. 

“Easy there!” Leto exclaimed. “Maybe we should get you to the infirmary?”

Aeolus pulled away slightly. “No... probably a bad idea,” he mumbled. “They’ve probably been told to look out for me there. Not too keen on Meneris finishing what he started.”

Leto was about to argue, to say that he was sure Meneris had no intention of killing the tattooed elf - but he checked himself. He had no way of judging what the elven Inquisitor might or might not do, and the man had already wounded Aeolus badly enough to blind him in one eye and make he, Leto, think that he’d been hit in the face with a maul or hammer. Aeolus presumably knew the man far better - and after all, it would be just the kind of thing his own Inquisitor would do. Dumat knew, if his own Dorian were badly enough hurt to need to be taken to the infirmary, as he’d heard the servants discussing in the kitchen earlier, then he couldn’t say for certain he wouldn’t have reacted the same. But both Aeolus - and, more to the point, Ellowynne who had been an actual witness to the altercation - had agreed that it had been an unfortunate accident before she left to go seek out her father.

“Alright,” said Leto. “No infirmary. Are there any other healers you trust that I might be able to bring to you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aeolus shrugged. “The eye’s gone. Healers can’t heal what’s not there to heal, after all. Consider it my penance.”

“Aeolus, Meneris hit you hard enough to crack your skull as well as blind you in one eye. You’ve likely got a bad concussion; I’m good at fast and dirty battlefield healing but there was a lot wrong there that I just don’t have the skill to handle,” said Leto heavily as Aeolus shrugged out of the leather vest then took up a cloth and started washing away the dried blood.

“I’ll take an elfroot potion and sleep it off,” shrugged Aeolus as he peered at the polished metal mirror and washed blood from his face then swiped the damp cloth down his neck.

“Aeolus, you could get an infection or worse if I don’t get you to a healer. I’ll get someone for your injuries. If nothing else, I don’t want Fenris to come back and explode in anger over what has been done to his brother. So will you come with me or not?” 

Aeolus bowed his head as he braced himself over the basin; in the mirror, Leto could see that Aeolus had closed his good eye. Finally Aeolus nodded slightly. “Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll come with you.” He dropped the bloodstained cloth back into the basin and straightened slightly, reaching for his bloodied vest.

“I’m taking you to the infirmary, and depending on who’s there I might ask for Anders to come, he’s a better healer,” Leto said as he took Aeolus’ arm so he could keep the other elf steady. “Tell me more about Fenris, since all I hear is I’m not like him, I’m curious.”

“I’d tell you he’s more impetuous than I - but given what you’ve seen of me thus far, Dumat only knows what that would tell you of him,” said Aeolus. “But he’s certainly more hot-blooded than you are. A powerful warrior, who loves hard and holds a long grudge - but his heart is in the right place. When he found me, he and the others - Anders, Zevran and Invictus - were all heading to Seheron to rescue a woman; Isabela, with whom I’ve shared a cabin and berth with for over five years now. You likely had an Isabela in your world, and I dare say they’re all free spirits. Anyway, despite his hatred for Tevinter, my brother came with them to help rescue her. And even whilst he was telling Anders I should be killed or allowed to die, I could see he was concerned for Anders. And he was devastated by what had happened to Zevran; I could see that clearly.” He sighed. 

He stumbled slightly as they turned the corner, his depth perception out of kilter thanks to his missing eye; he caught himself against Leto. “Sorry,” he murmured.

Leto laughed at the hot blooded remark. “My temper far outstrips your brother’s, I’m sure. I’m not a kind man, the world I live in made sure of that,” the elf said as he helped Aeolus down the hall. “I’m just glad I could help in small way since none of you had to help me once you discovered I was not your Fenris.” 

“Don’t let my behaviour fool you; the people here in Skyhold are decent people who do the right thing,” said Aeolus with a shrug. “They wouldn’t have left you to twist in the wind just because you’re from the wrong world. Though granted I hadn’t expected Zevran to take to you in quite this way. But then Zevran has a very good heart - for a cutthroat Antivan assassin bastard.” He grinned, betraying his own high regard for the Antivan. 

“Considering how you spoke to me at first, I am not inclined to think you hold him in high esteem nor I, but I am hoping it’s concern for your brother rather than your regular demeanor,” Leto said as he noticed they were a few doors from the Infirmary.

“I was not in my right mind,” said Aeolus heavily. “But that is no excuse for how I treated either him or you - he didn’t deserve it, and you don’t deserve it either. But I do have a great deal of respect for Zevran Arainai Hawke. He went after Anders unarmed and alone when he knew he would be facing down a tiger on our way to Adamant. He would lay down his life for his stepdaughter Ellowynne or for any of his husbands. And I treated him poorly. I must find some way to make amends - if he will allow.” He sighed. “Though if he will not then I cannot fault him for that.”

“I suggest you let them alone for a while, unless of course I have to fetch Anders to heal you,” Leto said as he entered the infirmary, seeking out someone to see to Fenris’ brother.

Barely had he had a chance to glance around than a tall dark-haired healer with his hair pulled back in a scruffy bun at the nape of his neck was suddenly hurrying towards them, taking hold of Aeolus by the arm and urging them swiftly towards one of the private side rooms. “Maker’s breath, hurry - before anyone sees either of you!” exclaimed the healer in a low voice.

“Parcival?” asked Aeolus, bewildered.

“Hush - in here and I’ll explain!” muttered Parcival.

He closed the door behind them then swiftly locked it as they both turned in surprise.

“Aeolus, it was madness for you to come here - Meneris has people hunting for you all over Skyhold, and gave orders that he should be sent for if you showed your face here!” the healer exclaimed.

“Well you see how bad off he is, I can’t heal this!” Leto exclaimed as he helped Aeolus towards a cot. “Meneris hit him so hard I thought it was a maul that caught him in the face, what kind of man is he to do this?” 

“A very angry one who tends to fly off the handle when his husband is hurt and worry about consequences later,” said Parcival with a scowl. “And who also seems to forget he’s not the bloody Inquisitor anymore since the Inquisition was disbanded back in Orlais. He’s not in charge in the infirmary - as First Enchanter, that would be me. Though from the way he and Invictus have been behaving since you all got back from Adamant you’d be forgiven for thinking that it’s Invictus bloody Hawke who’s in charge of the College these days....” 

He moved to the bed and crouched down slightly to peer at the ruin of Aeolus’ face. He lifted a hand that glowed blue with healing magic. “May I?” he asked politely; at Aeolus’ nod he laid the hand over the scarred flesh of Aeolus’ face. “Hmm. Quite the mess. Might I ask who did the initial healing?”

“Me, but it was mostly to keep him from bleeding to death. However hard Meneris hit him, he’s lost his left eye.” Leto said as he watched Parcival, curious as to the other man’s methods. 

“I don’t think he would have bled to death - can’t find any wounds that would have been life-threatening immediately, though - ugh, nose has been broken; that would have bled quite a bit....” murmured Parcival absently.

“My... my face was bleeding... there was a lot of blood....” said Aeolus.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but much of that liquid would have been from your eye,” said Parcival as he glanced up briefly to meet the gaze of Aeolus’ one good eye. “There’s... nothing really left that I can work with, though...and the bone is such a mess... hmm. I’m tempted to ask Anders for his opinion, to be honest - though don’t get your hopes up,” he added. “Would you allow me to send for him?”

Aeolus stared at him from his single bright blue eye, then slowly nodded. 

Parcival straightened then unlocked the door and poked his head out to speak briefly to someone before returning to Aeolus’ side. “I’m afraid much of this bone has set and is healing broken, Aeolus,” he said quietly. “And I think there won’t be a lot we can do about that; a single broken bone, we could have rebroken and healed but... Maker, this is almost half your face, Aeolus.”

“I understand,” said Aeolus softly.

Leto listened to them talking softly about Aeolus’ limited options. He glanced up when the door opened and he saw Invictus enter instead of Anders. He made his way over to stand in front of the other elf, wary of why he’d shown up. “We sent for Anders.”

“Who is asleep, so you get me. What do you want?” Vic asked testily.

Aeolus lifted his head and turned it towards the door. “Invictus,” he said warily as his good eye focused on the mage.

“What...?!” exclaimed Parcival as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Maker - no!” He leaped to his feet and spread his arms out defensively in front of Aeolus as he stared at Invictus. “Invictus. I can’t let you harm this man - and if you bring Meneris here, then I shall not stand by and watch this man be murdered! I took an oath to heal and protect, and I will not stand by and let this place of healing be made one of slaughter!” 

Parcival’s voice shook as he spoke, but he glared at Invictus. “You will not harm Aeolus,” he said, his voice dropping low and dangerous. “This is a place of healing and sanctuary and I will die before I see it profaned.” 

Vic folded his arms and stared down Parcival. “I’m not going to get Meneris, and I can already tell this is beyond my abilities.” He frowned as he saw Aeolus’s face and the ruin left after being hit. 

“Maker, how hard did he hit you?” he asked quietly.

“Hard enough to take his eye and damn near shatter his face, that’s how hard. I thought he’d been hit by a maul,” Leto replied. 

“He has also sustained a fractured skull,” added Parcival, still regarding Invictus warily. “The bone has been healed but he still has a concussion. I sent for Anders to confirm there is nothing to be done for the bone of his face. The eye... I suspect is beyond any save perhaps the Maker Himself, though if anyone can save it, it would be Anders, after how he saved Hal’s sight.”

“I see,” Vic said as he continued to stare down the First Enchanter. Finally he glanced at Leto before turning to go. “I’ll wake Anders and have someone escort him in case he’s still tired, anything else?” 

Parcival straightened slowly then turned away. “No,” he said quietly. “There is nothing else, Invictus.” Aeolus was staring at him, and he frowned at the expression on Parcival’s face before he glanced back to Invictus.

“Thank you, First Enchanter. Anders will be here shortly.” Vic headed back to their rooms in a hurry, unsettled at the mess that Aeolus’ face was, and how things seemed to go sideways so quickly since the morning. He entered to find Anders had awakened while he’d been away. Anders was sitting up and rubbing his hands slowly over his face as he blinked. He glanced up as Vic returned.

“Hello, love,” he smiled. “I’ve been having the strangest dreams. Everything alright?”

“Not really,” Vic said as he joined his husband. “Seems Meneris really did a number when he hit Aeolus earlier and your knowledge is needed now that he’s in the infirmary. Leto thought a maul had hit him it's so bad, his left eye looked to be gone.” 

“Oh Maker,” Anders groaned. “Is there anything of his eye left?” He was throwing aside the covers and rising from the bed, reaching for a long tunic. “Even a scrap of tissue?” 

“I don’t think so love, I couldn’t get very close to him,” Vic admitted as he watched Anders dress quickly. “Leto was still there, and I guess they expected me to get ...angry with him or something.” 

Anders glanced up as he belted the tunic. “Do I want to know why they think you might be angry, love?” he asked in the tone of voice that suggested he could likely think of a number of reasons and didn’t want to be correct about any of them.

“I had a row with Parcival this morning when I wanted a word with Varania. He also seemed to think I was going to tell Meneris so he could finish what he started when he hit Aeolus earlier.” Vic sighed as he ran a hand over his face. “Guess my asshole ways still get me in trouble.” 

“Vic, love... was Varania in Parcival’s office when you tried to talk to her?” Anders asked gently as he reached for his boots. “And were you in accord with Meneris whilst he was basically threatening to murder a potential patient of his if Aeolus showed his face for the healing he evidently desperately needed? Because let’s face it - if Meneris chose to, he could quite easily beat someone to death with that silverite fist of his.”

“Yes, she was, and I was a bit more concerned with Dorian at the time Meneris threatened to kill Aeolus. I may be angry but I do know what it would do to Fenris to return and find his brother dead.” Vic turned away as he waited to see if Anders wanted him to accompany him.

“Right,” said Anders as he laced his boots swiftly. “I think when I’ve done what I can for Aeolus, I shall need to call on Meneris. I’d appreciate it if you would come with me, love. Otherwise I’ll have to get Zevran to come with me, and I’m not sure he’s really recovered enough to face Meneris down if he flies off the handle at me. Which I suspect he may do,” Anders added with a sigh.

“This is payback isn’t it?” Vic asked sullenly while he got his staff. “Come on then.” 

“Payback?” asked Anders innocently as he moved around the bed to bend over Zevran as the Antivan slept on, oblivious, his face still rather pale in spite of the healing he had received from both Anders and Ellowynne.

“Yes, payback for being an ass earlier,” Vic replied as he waited by the door.

Anders kissed Zevran gently on the forehead; he was about to pull away when Zevran groaned and shifted. “Fenris... no... don’t....” the Antivan breathed. “Not... noose....”

Anders stared down at him, his eyes widening. “Zevran?”

“Noose? What in the void is he dreaming of?” Vic asked as he hurried over to his spouses. “Fenris and a noose?”

Zevran tossed his head restlessly. “He will hang me... did I fail? No... no, no, _carissimi!_ ” His eyes flew open wide and he sat up with a hoarse scream. Panting, he looked around at Anders and Vic who were staring at him in alarm.

“ _Mi cuore_? My love?” he gasped. “ _Brasca_ \- it was a dream? And yet... it seemed so real....” He glanced away, rubbing his wrists as though they had worn manacles and he had only just found himself free.

“What were you dreaming of?” Vic asked as he sat next to Zevran, worry for what the elf could have concocted in his mind to be yelling about a noose. 

“A trial... I was bound, forced to my knees, the hall filled with people watching,” murmured Zevran as he closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. “And Fenris stood waiting to pass judgment upon me. I was... confessing to horrors, unimaginable... and I knew, I _knew_ he was going to hang me... there, before everyone....His face was so cold, and I knew my life was forfeit.”

“What in the Void? I wonder… do you think that’s what’s happening to Fenris in Leto’s world? But how would you dream of that?” Vic asked. 

“Dorian was there,” murmured Zevran. “But I knew Anders should be there - and yet he was not.” He rubbed his wrists and stared at them. “It... felt so real...”

“I take it you don’t want to sleep then?” Vic asked before glancing to Anders. “We should tell Dorian when he’s awake.” 

Anders nodded, clearly shaken. “Aeolus will be waiting,” he said quietly. “Zevran... I shan’t ask you to come with us; after all that’s happened I know you have no love for him but -”

Zevran shook his head. “No. I cannot abide to be alone after such a dream,” he declared. “I shall come with you both.”

“Very well, but know that Leto and Aeolus are there. It seems that Meneris did a lot of damage when he hit him, I just wanted you to be prepared,” said Vic. He frowned and laid a hand on Zevran’s shoulder. “Love, you're still healing,” he said, quieter. “You shouldn't even be out of bed, but if you're set on this....”

“If I stay here alone, I will be able to think of nothing but this dream,” answered Zevran as he bowed his head. “I cannot understand it, but it has taken such a hold on me that I cannot think of anything else. I can still hear his voice, feel the terrible fear and certainty that I was to die...and ah! the dreadful things I was confessing to! And I have dreamed of _doing_ them! I was guilty, and yet I could not have done such things - I have done many terrible things as a Crow but this? No, no -”

“Zevran?” said Anders, seriously alarmed now. He sat on the edge of the bed and drew the Antivan to him as Zevran clawed at his hair in his distress. “Maker, what's going on? Vic, this isn't like him!”

“I know,” said Vic grimly. “It's that damned Rookery. There's something evil below it, far below the library and rotunda; you can feel it all through the tower but it's worst up there for some reason. Carver is here; I got Amell to take me to Val Royeaux to fetch him whilst you slept. They're down there still, casting Cleanses to try and get rid of the corruption.”

Anders shuddered. “What could they find there?” he breathed. “I didn't think there was anything under that part of the keep?”

“There is an interrogation room and cells,” said Zevran quietly. “Leliana would question certain captured spies there, and... in my time as Spymaster of the Inquisition... so did I.” He glanced up at Invictus, then gently pulled himself up out of Anders’ arms to stand. He began to dress.

“I must go down there,” he said quietly. “If there is an unclean presence there then I fear it must be my doing. I must see for myself if my dreams are somehow true.” 

“Love… please wait for us to go, I don’t want you going alone or while they work. It frightened me and I’m...I’d rather you not be there without us. I’d say go now, but we’ve already kept the First Enchanter and Aeolus waiting,” Vic asked as he watched the Antivan moving around.

Zevran was dressing in black; to Anders’ alarm, he realised that Zevran was dressing in his Crow armour. A glance to Invictus told him he was as disturbed as Anders was. 

“Zevran,” began Anders. “I think you’re really not in the right frame of mind for this! Look - let’s go see Aeolus so I can see what I can do for him, and then we’ll come back here and talk before we do anything else, alright?”

“I will go there alone if you will not come with me,” Zevran shook his head. He bent down for his boots then grunted as he clutched his middle, holding still for a moment before he grabbed his boots then made it to a nearby chair to put them on.

“Zevran, please don’t,” Vic asked as he watched his love change into Crow Master Zevran before them. “We said we would go with you, just not this moment.” 

Zevran finished tugging his boots on then rose to glance around for his knives; he limped towards the shelves where they were laid out. “I must go,” he growled. “If I do not, then this will eat at me. I remember doing things that I have not done, and I swear it will drive me mad.”

“Zevran Hawke, do you hear yourself? I said we’d go with you just give us a little bit of time!” Vic said as he watched the elf and realized he wasn’t listening. “Or, I can go with you and Anders can go to the infirmary?” he said with a glance at their husband. 

Anders was staring at Zevran, clearly very worried now. “Zevran, you - you know how hard it is for you to get up the stairs to the Rookery! You’re in no fit state for this! _Please_ , love!” 

It was clear however that Zevran had heard neither of them; he was muttering to himself in Antivan as he slipped knives into their various sheathes.

“Forgive me, love,” Vic said as he came behind the blond elf, hugged him and cast sleep so he’d stop trying to hurt himself. Zevran struggled as he felt Vic’s arms encircle him, but at the touch of the spell he collapsed in Vic’s arms, his body dropping into limpness far too fast for Vic’s liking.

“Vic, I’m scared for him,” said Anders as he came forward to help Vic lift the comatose elf into the bed. “He gets so focused on things at times, but I’ve never known him quite so....” He shook his head. 

“I am too, but at least he’ll sleep for a bit longer and maybe you can look at his leg before we go traipsing down there. I just wanted him to wait, dammit.” Vic brushed a few loose hairs from the elf’s face as he fell silent. “I fell apart earlier, and honestly...I don’t know how much longer any of us can take him being gone. Its like we’re all going mad in our own ways and I hate it.” 

“Are... are you having dreams too?” asked Anders softly as he stared down at the unconscious elf.

“No, but I feel like...the longer he’s gone, the worse we’re getting. We’re all snappish and exhausted, I ...cried like a baby in my little brother’s arms because I can’t take more of this. I just want Fenris to come home,” Vic replied quietly. 

“I dreamed of Fenris, except... I don’t think I was myself - or if I was, then I was a different version of me,” said Anders slowly. “I was imprisoned somewhere - it looked like one of those rooms over the gate; you know - Cullen’s old office, ot the one on the other side of the gate? Fenris had his hands around my wrists - as though he were holding me captive, and - and Josie was there, and - and she was talking about a key? And then Fenris was leaving me alone, and I was locked up, in an empty room with bars on the windows....” He shuddered. “At least it wasn’t dark,” he murmured, half to himself.

“I think we need to ask Leto about his world, because this sounds wild but ...it feels like his world and ours might be still overlapping or connected? Zevran dreaming of Fenris passing judgement, and you dreaming of him imprisoning you. I wouldn’t dream of his world because...well there's no me there and that’s part of why he’s so different than our Fen. Does that make any sense or have I just finally cracked?” Vic asked. 

Anders straightened and regarded him intently. “No... actually, that makes perfect sense,” he said. “But you said that in Leto’s world, I had let Vengeance take me over and I was the Inquisitor; why would I have allowed Fenris to imprison me?” He shook his head. “Love... much as I know you’re going to hate this... I think once I’ve seen Aeolus, I need to see this interrogation room for myself.”

“Fine.…” was all Vic could say. He felt defeated but knew it made sense, he didn’t have to like it though. “Let’s see to Aeolus and then visit this dungeon.”

**

Anders sat back with a small sigh. “I’m sorry, Aeolus,” he said gently. “If there were even a shred of tissue left then I might have done something, but....”

The tattooed elf regarded him impassively from his remaining eye. “It’s alright, Anders,” he said with a small half-shrug. “I think I knew when I saw the damage for myself that there was nothing left of it. But thank you for trying.”

Anders had worked on Aeolus’ face for more than an hour, labouring to rebuild the shattered, half-healed bone as much as he could. Too much had already healed out of place for him to do much more than rebuild most of the orbital socket and straighten his nose a little; some of the scars on Aeolus’ face had been faded slightly. But the elf’s face was still a ruin, even if he could now close his eyelid over the empty socket now.

“We have some glass eyes for those who have lost them,” said Parcival quietly as he stood and watched, his arms folded. He hadn’t looked up at Vic once since he’d returned with Anders. “Also some made of silverite; one of the mercenaries requested one. We might be able to match the colour of your remaining eye to glass -”

“Silverite will be fine,” Aeolus interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Glass would be too fragile for the work I must do at sea.”

“As you wish,” said Parcival softly, inclining his head.

“Fen will go berzerk when he sees you Aeolus, your recent argument not withstanding. We might have to hold him back from beating the tar out of Meneris for this,” Vic said as he watched Parcival though the other man wouldn’t look at him. 

The door opened behind him as he spoke. “Fenris will have to get in line,” declared Isabela as she stood there and stared at the ruin of Aeolus’ face. “I’ve been searching all over for you, sweet thing,” she said as she strode in and halted before her lover. She caught his chin in her hand and tilted it up to stare at the scarring with an expression like thunder. “When the guard told me he’d seen you being brought to the infirmary by your brother, I didn’t know what to think. But I do now. I’m going to gut that Meneris like the no-good mouth-breathing landlubber he is.”

“Isabela - I wouldn’t -” began Anders as he stared up at her; she whirled on him, looming over him as she glared.

“Not another word, Anders,” she hissed. “Aeolus is my lover, not yours, and this is an insult too far from that bastard! Who in the Void does Meneris think he is? He’s not the Inquisitor any longer, and it’s high time he realised that!”

Anders reached out and grabbed her wrist as she turned to go.

“Bela. Please. Don’t,” he pleaded.

“She’s right Anders, this is too far and you know it,” Vic said as he approached them. “You saw how he was before Adamant, and he could have killed Aeolus with that punch; the only reason he’s still breathing is because he left and you know it. Let him get what’s coming to him for once.” 

Isabela blinked at Vic, startled that he had joined in on her side; she glanced down at Anders again, who still had a hold of her wrist. “Best let go, sweet thing, or you’ll get hurt,” she murmured quietly.

Anders stared up at her, not letting go. “Bela. Dorian is with him. Dorian was hurt; a serious head wound, according to Parcival - his skull was cracked. If you confront Meneris and harm him, there’s no telling how it will harm Dorian; likely the same as it would hurt Vic if he had to stand by and watch Meneris kill Zevran or I. Dorian is innocent; he doesn’t deserve that!”

She pulled her arm free and turned to point at Aeolus. “And did Aeolus deserve _that??_ ” she cried. “Anders, I love you dearly as a friend but if you think you can stop me bringing to Meneris what he’s earned then you are sorely mistaken! I have a blade with that bastard’s name on it!”

Leto meanwhile was watching in fascination as they carried on. The Isabela in his world had sailed off after Hawke’s death and he hadn’t seen her since. He wasn’t surprised at Invictus joining her side but he wasn’t sure murder was an answer either. “Isabela, as much as Meneris is an ass, I’m pretty sure Dorian wouldn’t like to see his husband murdered in front of him. I’m not opposed to teaching him a lesson but can we not kill him?” 

Vic raised an eyebrow at the elf, surprised he was even speaking up but then he’d taken care of Aeolus when everyone else was looking to end him. “This is an old fight Leto, I think you should let this go.”

“Bela... if you attack Meneris, then Dorian is likely to try to defend him,” said Anders as he stared up at her. “Dorian may be recovering from a head injury but he’s still a powerful necromancer... and you’ve seen what Meneris’ fist has done to Aeolus.” His voice softened. “ _Please,_ Bela,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to see any of you hurt. Least of all you or Dorian.”

Parcival lifted his head, not looking at anyone. “I really don’t want to have to put any of you back together again,” he said wearily. “Anders, Zevran, Dorian, now Aeolus - where is it going to end?” He finally turned to look at them. “I don’t want to have to deal with putting more people I care about back together after they’ve been trying to slaughter each other. What is wrong with you all?”

“Oh I don’t know, there’s some kind of evil in the dungeon.. Our husband is missing, we’ve not had any rest since that damned battle with Nightmare, and we aren’t even able to go home. Take your pick, First Enchanter,” Vic said angrily. 

Parcival closed his eyes. “Invictus, what is your problem with me?” he asked quietly. 

“You deciding to protect that viper this morning over someone you’ve worked with for years. Putting words in my mouth about how I think my age means I know better than you.” Vic turned away as he paced and tried to find better words for his annoyance with the younger man.

“Invictus, you walked into my office and immediately started verbally attacking her,” said Parcival quietly, not looking at the other mage. “She is a guest of the College since Aeolus brought her here. I would have defended _any_ guest of the college. Have you any idea how that felt - to have you walk in as though you were still First Enchanter? As though you owned that office?” 

He opened his eyes and looked at Invictus. “I am the youngest First Enchanter in the history of either Circles _or_ the Colleges. And you behaved as though I were still one of your students, in front of someone who is a highly-respected and powerful magistra. Her works are in our library and others. How was I _supposed_ to react?” His eyes were filled with hurt as he stared at Vic. 

“She is _nothing_ , she’s using this opportunity and does not care about Fenris or you. I don’t care that Aeolus brought her here. Did you ask him how any of us felt about it? Did you know that Anders had to be brought back to our rooms after accidentally running into her? I do not give a single gryphon-feathered fuck about her. The only reason I haven’t dumped her on the road is in case there is any chance she can get Fenris back here. She isn’t someone to worry about preserving your reputation around. Apologies that you think I was acting as if I owned the office still -”

“Invictus Endrin Hawke,” said Anders in a low, controlled voice. “You will stop right there. Parcival is _not_ one of your students, and he’s quite right - you have no right to berate him like this, _in front of everyone else._ ” He rose to his feet and glanced between the two men. “No matter how we all feel about Varania, that doesn’t give you the right to humiliate him like this. And he is the First Enchanter and runs both the College _and_ this whole infirmary. Have you any idea of the damage you may have done if anyone - if any of his _students_ \- heard you treat him like this?”

Invictus had turned to glare at Anders, angry at his interjection. “Forgive me love, I forget my place.” He turned to Parcival and gave him a low bow, and apology. “Forgive me, First Enchanter Parcival, I overstepped.” He rose slowly and headed for the door. 

“Vic,” said Anders, quieter. “None of us want Varania here. But it’s not right to take your anger out on us like this.”

Aeolus stirred. “Invictus... if there’s anyone here you should be shouting at, it’s me. I was the one who did this. Don’t take it out on Parcival and Anders. You want to shout, let’s take this somewhere private and get it out. But not in front of them or anyone else; this is between you and I.”

“I’ve apologized, and I was sincere. I wish to be alone for a while now, Aeolus. I think you’ve paid plenty for everyone’s anger. Excuse me,” Vic replied quietly.

“Well, if you’ve all quite finished?” said Isabela acerbically. “There’s an elf I need to go talk to.”

“Bela,” sighed Anders wearily. “Please.”

Leto came over to Invictus to check on him. He wasn’t his Hawke but he could tell the other man was running from the dressing down he’d gotten, deserved or not. “Hey, take a walk with me.” 

“I’d rather not, Leto… please just let me be for a while,” Vic replied as he tried to get the elf to move.

“I’d rather not see you run off and hide after that, none of you and I’m concerned if you go off alone right now.” Leto stayed put, just as obstinate as Fenris. 

Anders stepped closer to them. “Vic... love,” he tried, his voice soft. “I didn’t say any of that to humiliate you. Please... don’t run away, I... I need you. I don’t want to go to the Rookery alone.”

“I can’t stay right now, please,” Vic replied without turning to face his husband.

“Don’t go there at all! That’s what’s gotten all of us in so much trouble, what made Aeolus act as he did, even Zevran and I were affected by it. Don’t go up there, I beg you!” Leto added. 

“I must,” said Anders quietly. “And if you prefer to run away from me, Invictus, then I go alone.” He turned and walked out.

“Dumat take me in my sleep tonight,” Vic muttered as he reluctantly followed Anders out. He caught up with the blond and fell in step but didn’t speak.

Leto watched them go then turned back to face who was left. “Alright, no one is going to stop them?” 

Aeolus was glancing up at him, worried. Isabela still looked angry; Parcival was staring at the door with a frown. 

“I have no idea what’s supposed to be up in the Rookery - but I do know that if Anders has another heart attack it will kill him,” he said quietly. “He can’t handle that kind of strain.” He glanced to Leto. “Come with me?”

“I suppose, but I don’t have a staff or much with me,” Leto said as he gave Isabela another look before turning to Parcival. “Let’s just hope I don’t need it.” 

As they hurried out after Anders and Invictus, Parcival called out to one of the healers as she passed, heading towards the other end of the ward. 

“Healer Maryam, your staff!” he requested. Wordlessly she unslung it and handed it to him. He thrust it into Leto’s hands. “Now you have a staff,” he said tersely. “Come on.”

Anders had strode on a little ahead of Vic; his eyes were fixed ahead as he headed up to the rotunda. He was silent as he made his way through the dilapidated shelves of the old library then began to climb the stairs to the Rookery. He reached the top a few paces ahead of Vic and made for the bed. He paused, touching a hand to the knife still embedded in the bedpost, then stared down at the rumbled bedding. Bending over it, he pressed a hand to the sheets then froze as an expression of horror crossed his face, his eyes fixed on the pillow as if he saw something terrible there.

“What is it?” Vic asked as he joined his husband. He wasn’t sure what had Anders so still but the expression on his face frightened him. “Anders? What’s wrong?”

Anders suddenly recoiled, stepping away from the bed hastily, his breath coming faster as he gasped. He glanced at Vic, and for a moment he seemed to be looking _through_ him until he managed to focus on him. “Zev- Zevran,” he finally managed to get out. “Chained to the bed and Fenris - Fenris was biting him... there was blood everywhere, and Zevran was screaming....”

“That can’t be right. The one time they did play around with biting, Zevran wasn’t chained, and it was in Fenris’ rooms. This must be something from the other Thedas; that had to be Leto you were seeing, not our husband.” Vic shuddered as he backed away from the bed and almost tripped over the door to the lower dungeons. 

Anders turned away from the bed. “But... but how could Leto do such a thing? He’s been gentle, quiet - he’s taken care of Aeolus, and why would Zevran - _our_ Zevran - why would he be so comfortable around him if he were so... so cruel and sadistic? He hasn’t hurt our Zevran, even though they’ve slept together!”

“Because I’ve been trying to tell you who I am but no one heard me,” Leto said as he approached them. He frowned as he looked at the bed, so like the one he’d taken his Zevran on countless times. “Now that I’ve been here, I can see what’s wrong with me, that place in my Skyhold and … I’ve changed for the better here.” He looked away, sure they would want him gone after seeing how he truly was. 

Anders had taken an unconscious step backwards as Leto spoke. “But... no - but _why_ would you do that?” he whispered as he took another half-step backwards, unheeding of the open door behind him. “You...that - what I just saw? That was... _punishment_. What did he even do?” He glanced to Vic, his eyes wild. “Oh Maker. Zevran. His dream - it wasn’t _Fenris_ who was going to hang him. It was _Leto_!”

“Anders!” Vic shouted before he grabbed at the blond to keep him from breaking his neck from a fall through the open door behind him. “Why is that door open?” 

“My fault, I was concerned with keeping Aeolus from bleeding to death, though I didn’t know it wasn’t life threatening,” replied Leto.

Anders cast a glance over his shoulder at the dark yawning stairway behind him and shuddered as he clutched at Invictus.

Parcival followed Leto into the Rookery and looked around at the unfamiliar room, then moved over towards the bed, staring at the knife in the bedpost before glancing over at Anders and Vic.

“Anders,” he said quietly. “I really don’t think you should be up here. The Veil is far too thin.” He glanced around at the others. “You can all feel it, can’t you?”

Anders stared down at the shadowed stairs and shivered, feeling a sense of dread that had nothing to do with the darkness or the narrowness of the stairs. “I feel it,” he nodded. “But I’m still going down.” He pulled away from Vic and headed down, calling up a globe of magelight as he went.

Vic glanced at Parcival but didn’t say anything; he just followed behind his husband, hopeful they would be done soon. Parcival and Leto followed after.

Anders seemed to be hurrying faster, until Vic was seriously worried the blond mage might slip and fall; just as he reached out for Anders however, they reached the bottom of the stairs and he heard voices from somewhere up ahead. It sounded like his brother and Rowan.

Anders strode through the outer room and past the empty cells into the interrogation room, the others close behind; Rowna and Carver turned, startled, as Anders burst into the room and hastened over to the bloodstained table set in the middle of the room. He halted and stared down at the table.

“Anders? Maker - Vic, get him out of here, we haven’t finished!” exclaimed Carver. Anders was ignoring him; he was staring down at the bloodstains fixedly, his breath coming faster. 

“Leto!” he called, not looking up. “Leto, come here - quickly!”

The elven mage hurried in to see what Anders was yelling for him and stopped unsure what he was seeing. “What?” 

There was an abrupt crack of magical power, and a portal opened directly opposite Anders on the other side of the table. Both Ellowynne and Zevran stepped through.

“Wynne? Sweetheart, what are -” began Anders.

“This is what you all need to see,” said Ellowynne quietly. Then she laid her hand flat on the table.

Instantly, the room was plunged in darkness save for flickering lights from the braziers. The sounds of groaning and whimpering echoed from the cells behind them; as Vic, Carver, Rowan and Parcival stared about them, startled, Leto stepped forward to rest a hand on Anders’ shoulder.

Zevran stared at Anders and bared his forearm, holding it towards the mage. As they watched, horrified, Anders took Zevran’s wrist and drew one of the Antivan’s blades. He set it against the inside of Zevran’s forearm, his eyes empty and hollow, as were Zevran’s.

“Anders - no, we can’t allow this!” exclaimed Parcival as he moved forward at the same time as Rowan and Carver leapt for the elf. The blade jerked, and a long slash appeared across Zevran’s skin before the blade was knocked from Anders’ hand and Parcival wrestled the mage to the ground, swiftly putting him under with a sleep spell. Zevran was likewise going down, as his blood splashed on the table.

And then suddenly there was a second Anders, a second Zevran, and the strange Anders was chanting as the blood rose and swirled about the strange Zevran. The elf cried out, but the sound was distant and muted. They could hear him plead with Vengeance not to make him do this again, but as the blood swirled around him he shuddered then straightened, turning back towards the table, his eyes empty. There was a figure on the table - a child. As they all watched in horror, Zevran lifted a blooded boning knife and reached for the child.

Rowan screamed, and suddenly there was light in the chamber again. There was no-one on the table; the other Anders and Zevran were gone. Parcival was crouched over the unconscious Anders, and Zevran was curled up in a ball as Carver crouched over him, one hand clutching tight around Zevran’s arm to stem the blood.

“I’m sorry,” said Ellowynne as she bowed her head and pressed a hand over her left eye. “I didn’t want to do it but... this place should not exist. The spirits of the victims are trapped between worlds and they are begging for release. I... I didn’t know this would happen....”

“What have you done?” exclaimed Rowan as she knelt beside Zevran to heal the cut. “This is blood magic!”

“Yes,” nodded Ellowynne. “But not of my doing. This was but an echo of what has happened in Leto’s world.” She glanced up at Vic and Leto. “We need to talk to Dorian. And then I need to dreamwalk.” 

Vic was stunned as he watched them, and then he turned to Leto in horror. “What have you done?”

The elf had backed into a corner, and looked pale as he couldn’t keep his eyes off Zevran. He turned at Vic’s voice and shook his head slowly. “I didn’t know about this. I had no idea it was so bad,” Leto replied as he kept staring at Zevran. “No wonder he did those things, begged me to… I’m going to be sick.” 

Zevran’s eyes were half-open as he seemed to gaze through Rowan, her focus on his arm as she healed the cut. His face was pale, and he seemed to be unaware of where he was.

“We need to get Anders out of here,” said Parcival; from the sound of his voice, he felt as nauseated as the rest of them did. “Ellowynne... please tell me he was unaware of what he was doing?”

“My father and Zevran likely will have no memory of it,” she said wearily, her hand still pressed over her eye. “They were... I suppose you could say they were possessed briefly by an echo. Neither of them should remember any of this, but we must get them out of here as swiftly as possible.” She looked to Vic. “Papa Vic... I’m drained. Could you open a portal back to my father’s rooms?”

Vic opened the portal, shaken as he watched Carver take Zevran through and then helped Rowan take Anders. He glanced back at Parcival and Leto who still looked as if he couldn’t have moved for love or money. “Leto, come on. We’re going.” 

Parcival had risen back to his feet as Carver and Rowan lifted Anders; he glanced back at the tall elf. “I’ve got him, Invictus,” he said as he approached Leto. “Leto? We have to go. It isn’t safe for you to stay here.”

“I have to go home… fix this,” Leto said as he glanced up at the healer. He got up and headed for the portal, his gaze uneasy as he went through.

“Thank you, First Enchanter,” Vic said as he waited for everyone to exit so he could close the door on this evil space. 

Parcival flinched at the use of his title once more from Vic. This whole afternoon - the whole day, the past _two_ days - had had him on edge and feeling a little raw, and Vic’s continuing use of his title instead of his name felt like yet another slap in the face from the older man. He followed Leto through the portal and made his way over to the bed where Carver and Rowan had laid Anders. He fought down the urge to flee back to his quarters in the College to find his wife Becky; she’d always been a calm, stabilising influence in his life. But right now he had Anders and Zevran to take care of - and as he glanced up at Ellowynne, he sent up a silent prayer to Andraste that he wouldn’t have a third patient as the young elven woman pressed her hand against her face and swayed slightly, looking exhausted.

Vic stepped through just as he saw Ellowynne swaying by her father’s bedside. “Imp, maybe you should rest up and let me check you out huh?” He held a hand up as he slid an arm around her waist and realized just how much she’d grown during her adventure. She wasn’t this tall the last time he’d seen her, he knew that much.

He could see from Carver’s expression that his brother had also noticed the difference in his niece; they exchanged a worried frown. Rowan was kneeling down in front of Zevran, who was slumped in a chair. She was carefully wiping the last traces of blood from the thin healed scar that ran diagonally across his forearm in a long slash. The elf was gazing dully down at the scar, seemingly unaware of his surroundings or the other people in the room.

Leto had sat against a wall, looking rather pale and unwell as he turned over what he’d seen in that dungeon. “I ...failed my Anders, I promised I’d keep him from turning to that,” he said before curling up against the wall.

Ellowynne glanced up at him wearily. “You weren’t to know,” she said tiredly. “He kept that hidden from you... they both did.” She closed her eyes. “But it’s nearly over now.” She swayed, and then she was falling, and it was only Vic’s arm around her waist that checked her fall.

“Maker dammit,” Vic said as he laid her out next to Anders in bed and got to work healing her, or trying to. He frowned; he couldn’t seem to find anything physically wrong - no injuries or illness that he could find. She seemed merely to be exhausted - as though she hadn’t slept in over a week; and yet he knew she must have slept the previous evening; she’d taken a dose of Anders’ sleeping draught with her to her room. He was at a loss to explain it.

“I think Anders will be alright,” said Parcival as he straightened. “If Ellowynne spoke the truth, he shouldn’t remember anything - and from what I can tell, his heart is much as it was before. If he was aware of what he was doing to Zevran, then I would expect to find some sign of the stress on his heart.”

At mention of his name, Zevran blinked and raised his head, looking around at them all in bewilderment. “Why... why are there so many people in our room, my love?” he asked Vic dazedly. “Why - how did my arm come to be hurt?” He gazed down at the scar as Rowan finished drying his skin. “What has happened to me?”

“You and Ellowynne showed up just Anders interrupted Carver and Rowan’s work,” Vic said as he continued to check over Ellowynne. “I told you all that place was evil, but no... no one listens to me,” he muttered. 

“I thought we’d almost finished, but evidently we need to do more down there,” said Carver heavily as he paused. He’d been pacing restlessly but now he glanced to Rowan. “This is all rather worse than I was expecting - and it’s a bit out of my range of experience. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s like something bleeding out of the Fade - something has been shredding the Veil down there. I’m guessing that’s what that other Anders we saw in the vision was doing and why he was controlling the other Zevran with blood magic - forcing the poor bastard to create blood sacrifices, and his own fear and self-hatred as he did it would have been calling up more demons to tear at the Veil too.”

Zevran turned to stare at him. “Then... my dreams, the things I saw myself doing - that is what that other Zevran was doing? You mean I was seeing his experiences? But then -”

He turned and stared at Leto. “He believed you would hang him,” he breathed.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Leto replied quietly. “Who believed I would hang him?” 

“Your Zevran,” Zevran said as he pulled away from Rowan and rose, limping slowly towards the tall elf, the scar on his arm forgotten. “His hands were manacled behind his back. It was as though I were he; I felt his fear, his certainty that he was to be executed. They made him walk, manacled, through the hall - paraded before all there before you would exact judgment upon him. They forced him to his knees and he was made to recite his crimes.” Zevran’s golden eyes seemed distant, as though in his mind he were there in that hall. “The crimes of his depravity. The things he did in the interrogation room. They had found the bodies, the remains, and he - I - he confessed to them all, and knew he would hang for them. You would not be merciful a second time.”

“Then this must have happened with your Fenris pretending to be me. I knew nothing of that butchery; even _I_ could not have abided it. I failed them - if I knew Anders had done such things I would have freed him well before that could have happened.” Leto’s voice broke as he looked at them all. “I have to get back, I have to fix this.”

“We need to get my _carissimi_ back,” breathed Zevran.

**

Dorian rubbed his head dazedly. “And you say it was Aeolus who did this?” he said in a bewildered tone as Meneris sat on the edge of the bed scowling. “I really can’t remember any of this at all....” The magister had woken up not long ago, and it seemed he had no memory of even having spoken to Ellowynne and Invictus, much less being knocked down by Aeolus.

“Yes, that’s what I was told when I came in and saw you on the ground, dazed and bleeding. He’s gone too far love. Bringing his sister here despite them not wanting it, hitting Zevran. I think we all want a piece of his hide.” Meneris replied. 

“But Meneris, I -”

Dorian got no further as there was a muffled yell of pain from outside their rooms, and then Isabela walked in, a look of cold fury on her face as Aeolus followed behind; Meneris caught a glimpse of one of his guards on the ground, doubled over and clutching his groin as he curled up into a fetal ball before Isabela was upon him, grasping the front of his tunic and bodily hurling him away from the bed to the floor, sending him rolling to fetch up against Aeolus’ feet.

“Look what you’ve done, you fucking Dalish poncy bastard!” snarled Isabela as Aeolus took a step back. “Look at him!”

As Meneris rolled to his feet, he was confronted by the sight of Aeolus’ ruined face. Slowly, the tattooed elf opened the scarred eyelid to reveal the damaged, empty socket.

“Hello, Meneris,” said Aeolus quietly. “You wanted me. Here I am.”

“Yes… here you are, and you brought Isabela with you I see,” Meneris said as he looked at Aeolus and sighed. “You’re here for payback then?” he asked, knowing that if the taller elf didn’t take him out, then Isabela was itching for a fight. 

“You wanted to kill me, didn’t you?” said Aeolus quietly. “If I hadn’t made a blind leap away, one more blow from your fist would have done for me. You’ve taken my eye, Meneris. I’m only here to see that Isabela doesn’t actually kill you in revenge for the way you’ve maimed me.” He smiled faintly. “You could kill me before she could reach us - but I don’t think you really want to do that anymore, do you?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t want to kill you anymore,” replied the shorter elf. He looked to both of them, sure he was still going to die. “If you are going to take me for a ride, let’s not do this where Dorian could see it, please?” 

Aeolus laid a hand on Meneris’ shoulder as Isabela took a step towards them, drawing her knives.

“No - _no!_ ” screamed Dorian as he scrambled from the bed, almost falling in his haste as he thrust himself forward then turned, stretching his arms out as he halted in front of Meneris, facing Isabela. “If you want to harm him, you’ll have to go through me first!” he declared.

Isabela halted and let her eyes rove slowly down over Dorian’s near-naked form, his dignity preserved only by his loose sleep pants, and then back up his body and she licked her lips. “Well, well. Aren’t _you_ the pretty thing? And without your staff, too. Do you really think you can stop me? Step aside or you’ll get hurt too.”

“Bela,” said Aeolus warningly as his hand tightened slightly on Meneris’ shoulder, mutely warning him not to move. “He may not have a staff but he _is_ a powerful necromancer.”

“Oh goody,” said Isabela with an unpleasant smile. “It’s a good job I’m about to give him a dead body to play with then, isn’t it?”

“Love… stand down, I earned this,” Meneris said quietly as he continued to stare up at Aeolus. “Spare him seeing this, its my only request before you…” the elf was convinced he was about to meet the Creators, and he refused to flinch from it.

Dorian turned and pressed a hand against Meneris. “No, _amatus_ , I will not stand by and -”

He got no further as Isabela was suddenly behind him, one arm snaking around his chest whilst the other pressed the edge of her blade against his throat. “Ah ah now, let’s back away slowly, sweet thing,” she purred softly. “You and I are going to take a slow walk backwards to that chair, and then you’re going to sit down quietly whilst Auntie Bela has a word with your naughty husband....” 

She backed him slowly over to a nearby chair, her blade still at his throat.

“I really wouldn’t do this if I were you,” said Dorian as he gazed back at Meneris.

“Isabela...stop. Your quarrel is with me and I am willing to take what’s coming to me, but leave him alone. He’s still recovering!” Meneris said as he tried to go to him but realized how strong the other elf was. “Going to rip my arm off then? Or what are you doing to do to him?” 

“Isabela,” said Aeolus quietly. “What are you doing?”

She had forced Dorian into the chair and was now binding his wrists behind his back with the sash from her belt. She straightened as Dorian struggled, looking alarmed now. She merely smiled as she snagged a hand in his hair and forced his head back; Dorian went still as she lowered her knife to press the tip just below the magister’s left eye.

“Tell me, Meneris,” she said quietly, her smile gone. “How would it feel to watch as I gouge out Dorian’s eye? To scar him, the way you have my lover?”

“I’d rather you gut me, anything that to do that to him! Please, don't!” Meneris begged, even struggled against Aeolus out of fear for his husband. 

“Bela - stop. This - this isn’t what I want!” exclaimed Aeolus. “I thought this was about Meneris and I? Dorian is innocent! He’s done nothing wrong!”

“Oh, I know,” agreed Isabela. “A shame, really - he has such pretty grey eyes. They remind me of the sea. It would be such a shame to scar a pretty face like his, don’t you agree, Meneris?”

Dorian had gone perfectly still as he felt the prick of the knife, just below his bottom eyelid. As he gazed at his husband, his vision was obscured by the blade. He swallowed hard, but said nothing.

“You see, Meneris, Aeolus had done nothing wrong. It was an accident. But you were going to kill him for it, weren’t you?” she continued. “You lashed out, and now Aeolus is scarred for life and half-blind. You can’t take that back. No amount of ‘I’m sorry’ will give him back his eye. You washed it off that fucking hand of yours as though it were nothing, didn’t you?” She dug the blade a little deeper, and Dorian gasped as he felt blood welling up around the tip.

“Isabela - taking my eye won’t bring back his,” the magister managed, his voice somehow calm in spite of how pale he’d gone. 

“Oh, I know,” she nodded, never taking her eyes off Meneris. “But it would mean nothing to him to be maimed himself. No, I think if he has to stare at your maimed face it will really bring it home to him every day just what he’s really done.” She smiled at Meneris. “I’ll do it on a count of three. And then bye bye eye. That’s more than Aeolus got, after all. One.”

“Please,” breathed Dorian. “Please don’t do this.”

“Isabela, no - no, this is too far!” exclaimed Aeolus; Meneris could feel the elf’s hand tremble as it rested on his shoulder.

“Too late, sweet thing; he should have thought of this before telling the healers to let him know if you showed your face there,” shrugged Isabela. “Two.”

“Bela - this isn’t going to help!” exclaimed Aeolus.

“I know,” she shrugged. She stared down at Dorian, who couldn’t take his eyes off her, his own wide in terror. “Nothing personal, sweet thing.” She smiled. “Three.”

She sheathed the knife and stepped away as Dorian closed his eyes with a loud sob. “We’re done here,” she said coolly and strode towards Meneris. She paused beside him to pat his cheek. “Next time, I _will_ take his eye.” She carried on towards the door as Aeolus’ hand fell away.

Meneris watched them for a moment before running over to free his husband and hold him close. “We’re leaving now. I don’t care where.” Meneris was shaking as he wrapped his arms around Dorian and laid his head in the other man’s lap. 

Dorian was touching the cut beneath his eye, blinking in disbelief and shock as he shook, gasping. “She - she cut - she cut me,” he managed to get out. “She actually _cut_ me! My - my eye, she -” He pressed his hands over his face, and then gave a loud, hysterical sob, followed by another as he slowly doubled over, shaking badly.

Aeolus backed away slowly, unable to take his eye off the two men. He’d known Isabela could be ruthless, particularly when a loved one was threatened - but she’d never gone so far before. He couldn’t think of anything to say that could ease either of their minds. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed, before he turned and hurried after her.

Meneris didn’t hear him, he was too busy comforting Dorian and trying to get him settled again. “Forgive me, I’m sorry I’m so sorry!” he begged. Dorian was shaking badly; being tied up in his own bedroom with a knife drawing his blood had stirred up old, bad associations, and he had been certain that the Rivaini woman was going to follow through on her threat. The shock and relief was overwhelming, his head ached, and he couldn’t control the fit of hysterics that had overtaken him.

“She cut me... Meneris, she cut me!” he gasped, over and over as he clutched at his face and shook.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris returns home, though not alone. Leto confronts those he has harmed.

Fenris glanced down. Anders was sleeping, the blond mage utterly exhausted after their lovemaking; he was curled up on his side now, his head in Fenris’ lap as the elf slowly carded a hand through dark gold hair.

Fenris himself felt actually at peace for once - sated and calm in a way he hadn’t really felt since finding himself in the wrong Thedas. No matter how hellish the world outside the door, here in Anders’ prison he had found a peace and tranquility he’d not hoped to find until he could return to his own world.

“Fenris.”

A young elven woman was standing near the foot of the bed. He hadn’t heard her come in; one minute he’d thought they were alone, the next moment she was there.

“Fenris,” she said again.

“Who are you?” he asked, as he slipped an arm around Anders and sat up. “How did you get in here?”

“I’m not really here,” she replied with a wry smile. “You’re dreaming, Fenris. And you do know me - though not like this.”

“I’m not asleep, am I?” Fenris tilted his head as he stared at her. “You’re a demon aren’t you? Anders always warned me about their temptations and … now I’m prey for them too,” he said quietly. “Go on, leave, demon.” 

“Fenris, I’m no demon. You are dreaming, and this is the Fade. I’ve come to warn you that the Veil is very thin in the dungeon below the Rookery, and it’s affecting your own world as well as the Thedas in which you’ve found yourself. It is affecting your husbands and others there; it is causing madness. They have seen what happened in Leto’s Thedas; they know now what Zevran was forced to do - and what happened to him. Your own husband has dreamed that he was on trial and that you were going to hang him. Your Anders is ill. Even your brother has been harmed; Meneris has given way to madness, and Dorian has been hurt.” She took a step closer to the bed. “I am Ellowynne, daughter of Anders and Tadhriel, apprentice of Solas, and I have come to tell you it is time to return home.”

“How? Leto never learned to teleport and I can’t just leave them here and let him come back. He’s hurt them so much. I can’t teleport across the Fade and worlds with three people in tow. How am I supposed to get back? Dorian has been searching but hasn’t had a chance to test his work yet,” Fenris asked as he stared at the tall young elven woman before them.

“I’ve been gone a while, but you’re Ellowynne? You’ve gotten so tall and you even sound - wait, you said apprentice to Solas; what did he do to you?” Fenris asked suddenly. 

“He took me into the Fade through an eluvian, where he taught me for four years,” she answered. “To explain more would take more time than I have. Tell me - you say Dorian hasn’t had a chance to test his work yet; has he worked out how to cast a portal, either with or without your aid?”

“No, he was surprised when I teleported,” Fenris said as he gently moved Anders off his lap and scooted closer to his step-daughter. “I can take us back to Adamant if you can get Vic or someone to open a portal there on your side. Or if there’s a way for me to show him how, we can meet there?” Fenris asked before he also realized he was very naked and so was Anders.

Ellowynne kept her eyes on him as she came to sit on the edge of the bed. “I can cast a portal. I will teach you, here in the Fade. Twelve hours from now, I need you to be at Adamant. I will be there myself. At precisely noon at Adamant tomorrow, I will open a portal, where the rift was. You will open a portal there as well, and we will join our portals through the Fade. Then you will be able to step through to our Thedas.” 

She glanced down at the sleeping Anders. “Are you bringing him with you?” she asked, a small frown on her face.

“He’s been separated from Vengeance, he can’t stay here. I have to bring him, along with Dorian and Zevran. As far as anyone here knows, I’m Leto, and if they think he’s gone? They will all die very quickly. After this I’ll wake them and we’ll prepare to go.” Fenris glanced at her then around the room with a strange feeling. “I thought I wasn’t ever getting home.” 

She was still staring at the sleeping Anders with that frown. “Fenris... has he said anything of hearing singing?” she asked quietly. “Or have you heard him singing to himself perhaps?”

“No, not to me. He’s… had a hard time since we got rid of Vengeance. Why?” the elf asked as he brushed a hand over the other mage. 

She looked up at Fenris. “We will need to bring him to Dorian as quickly as possible when you return,” she said. “Because unlike my father, _this_ Anders has the taint. And I think it is time for his Calling.”

She gestured to Anders, and as Fenris looked down at him again he could see the dark grey tendrils of the taint weaving through the sleeping man’s flesh, his face growing paler as dark shadows like bruises pooled beneath his closed eyes and around his mouth.

“We need to get you all home soon, before it’s too late,” she said softly.

“Dumat... What else is going to happen?” Fenris said softly before turning to her. “Teach me, so I can get home.”

**

Fenris opened his eyes. Ellowynne’s words still echoed in his mind, but as he sat up he realised that he now knew how to get them to Adamant, at least, even if not all the way home.

He turned and looked down at Anders, as he slept on beside him, oblivious. Were the shadows beneath his eyes a little darker than normal?

He shook the other man’s shoulder hard to get him up. “Anders, we have to get up right now. Come on.” Fenris slipped out of bed so he could wash and throw some things in a rucksack and to get into his armor. 

Anders stirred, then opened his eyes sleepily. “Hmm? Fenris? Where are we going? What are we....” He blinked as he stared about himself, disoriented. “Am I being moved to a different room?” he asked as he brushed hair out of his face. 

“No, we’re going home to my home. Get dressed, now!” Fenris barked as he rummaged for something for the mage to wear. He finally tossed a clean set of clothes at him before going through the drawers to see if there was anything he needed. “Hurry up, we don’t have long and we need to get Dorian and Zevran up.”

Anders sat up and glanced around; as Fenris had already found, he had very little - the bed, the chest with a couple changes of clothes, the wash basin. Anders dressed hastily. “How will we get there?” he asked. “Or... sorry, that’s probably something I’m not allowed to know,” he added, glancing away. “I guess I’m supposed to wait here - unless you want to lead me through the keep like you did yesterday? Which was almost pleasant actually - you have very strong hands, did you know that? I kind of liked being helpless like that, much nicer than those manacles Josephine left and....I’ll shut up now....” his voice tailed off as he realised he was babbling.

“It’s ok, and if we had more time I’d repeat yesterday night but we’re on a schedule. Maybe after we’re back and we get you settled. No more manacles or being a prisoner once we leave, ok?” Fenris came over and kissed him slow and easy. “Thanks for last night, it really helped me. I hope you had fun too,” he said shyly before finishing dressing. 

“Oh, Maker, yes!” said Anders with a dreamy smile. “It was fantastic. I’ll swallow your cock as much as you like if it always leads to you fucking me like that in the end. I’ll sit beneath your desk and you can use my mouth all day long if you order it - just promise me that after I do anything else you want, you’ll fuck me senseless like that again at the end ... I can’t think of a nicer way to fall asleep!” He turned to put his boots on, humming aimlessly to himself.

Fenris smiled at the mental picture that gave him, how Anders had looked sucking him off with a happy expression and the utter joy he’d had as he’d ridden him. “Maybe to celebrate, after you meet my Anders and...both of you...not the time Fenris, so not the time.” He grabbed the key as he hurried to the door. “Give me your hands.” 

Anders held his wrists out and gave a small gasp that went straight to Fenris’ groin as the elf grasped them firmly in one hand. “Maker... I swear, you can do anything to me and lead me anywhere and I will be the perfect prisoner,” murmured Anders. “Take me like this and I think you could lead me to the Black City itself.”

“I’ve been there once, I don’t recommend it,” Fenris quipped as he led them across the bridge to his rooms and entered to the sounds of rather energetic coupling. 

As Fenris followed the sounds up to his bedroom, he found that Dorian had put the rope to good use; Zevran was bound by the wrists to two of the bedposts, blindfolded, as Dorian rode him energetically. The magister had his back to Fenris and held a small riding crop in one hand; as Fenris stared, he brought it down hard on Zevran’s chest, which was already marked with red wheals. There was a small, sharp crack and Zevran arched his back beneath Dorian with a hoarse cry before thrusting up harder into Dorian’s body.

“Please... please, again!” begged Zevran.

“Mythal...is good to let me see this....” Fenris murmured as he dropped Anders’ hands and went over to the bed to gently bite Dorian on the back of the neck. 

Dorian jerked with a low cry; Zevran turned his head and slowed his thrusts at the sudden, unexpected movement. 

“Dorian? We are not alone, someone - no, who is there?” There was alarm in Zevran’s voice, and suddenly he began to struggle hard against the ropes.

“Easy, _amatus_ ,” panted Dorian. “It’s Fenris.”

“It’s me...and Anders is downstairs,” Fenris rumbled before kissing the back of the magister’s neck. “Hurry, we have to go and soon.” He drew back and headed down to try and control himself though he could hear every creak of the bed and moan. 

He heard the riding crop snap twice more as the creaking grew faster, and then on the third snap Zevran cried out and the creaking slowed. Anders appeared to be trying to look anywhere but at the hatch leading to the bedroom; at each snap of the whip his breathing caught a little.

After a moment, the creaking began to speed up, and now it was Dorian who was softly groaning.

Fenris had sat at his desk, and his head was down as he tried not to think about what he’d seen, how good Dorian had looked as his back and ass flexed on each rise and fall over Zevran’s cock. Or just how he’d wanted to trade with the magister. “The Maker hates me…” he muttered.

From overhead they could hear a low moan from Zevran as Dorian groaned aloud, “Dumat... Zevran... you’re so tight... _venhedisssss_....” and the creaking sped up.

Anders took a seat in one of the chairs and hunched in on himself a little, humming faintly.

Fenris glanced up at Anders and smiled before throwing a silence up. “How fast can you be?”

Anders looked up, startled, then threw himself to his knees at Fenris’ feet and reached for the lacings of the elf’s pants, leaning forward as his lips parted to wrap around Fenris’ cock as he set to work. As Fenris’ hands grasped his hair tightly and began to guide his head, Anders obediently bobbed his head faster, hollowing his cheeks as he took Fenris down into his throat and swallowed, his amber eyes on the elf’s face as he somehow managed to give him a cheeky grin with his mouth and throat full of Fenris’ cock.

“Anders… fuck… fuck,” Fenris gasped as he tightened his grip, his eyes closing as he tried not to whimper at how good he felt. He reached back with his free hand, nails digging into the leather of the chair. He felt Anders lightly brace himself with one hand to the inside of his thigh as the mage made a faint gagging sound but kept going, his breath hitching each time Fenris’ cock hit the back of his throat which was coming faster and faster, the elf now effectively fucking himself with the blond man’s mouth and throat, his grip painfully tight in Anders’ hair as the mage let himself be used, still sucking at Fenris’ cock and swallowing around it until finally Fenris came hard with a loud groan, holding Anders’ head in place as he spent himself down the other man’s throat. 

After a moment he let Anders’ hair go as he tried to catch his breath; he heard Anders cough then gasp for breath from the floor at his feet.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ \- were you busy pleasuring yourself whilst I was taking Zevran?” exclaimed Dorian’s voice from the foot of the ladder.

Fenris winced as he tried to uncurl from the way he’d contorted himself and looked up to see Dorian. “No, he was,” he said with a nod to under the desk. “Sorry, but hearing you both got to us.” He tucked himself back in and reached down to wipe Anders’ chin clean while he gathered his thoughts.

“We need to go back to my Thedas, so get what you need and I’ll meet you in here,” Fenris said as he tried to get Anders back with them. Anders was blinking dazedly, out of breath; he crawled out from beneath the desk at another nudge from the elf but slumped a little as he knelt beside it, trying to catch his breath still.

Dorian stared down at him. “Fenris, were you... _using_ him?” he asked quietly. Zevran was watching, a little dazed himself and looking unsettled, rubbing his wrists where burns from his struggle against the ropes had marked him. The Antivan ran a hand through his hair then shook his head. 

“I will go fetch my things,” he said quietly, and headed out through the nearest door. 

“I didn’t force him, we...it was mutual!” Fenris snapped as he went to the basin to wash up and get a flannel to wipe Anders off. He knelt and gently cleaned off the blond before noting the mess of his shirt. “I’ll be back with a clean shirt for you.” 

As Fenris headed up the ladder, Dorian walked over to stare down at Anders, who hadn’t moved from his place on the floor by Fenris’ desk. Anders lifted his head to stare up at the magister as Dorian took Fenris’ seat.

Dorian leaned forward and gripped Anders’ chin, tilting the blond mage’s head up as Dorian studied him sombrely. “Did he hurt you?” he asked softly.

“No... I was willing,” said Anders quietly.

“That’s not what I asked,” said Dorian sternly. Anders dropped his gaze. “Look at me,” added Dorian, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. As Anders’ eyes returned to his, he nodded. “Better. Now, answer my question. Did he hurt you?”

“No,” replied Anders. “I just couldn’t quite swallow in time. But I was willing; he didn’t force me. This... it’s why I’m still alive, isn’t it? To be used? I’m willing - if this is why -”

Dorian stared down at him, saddened. “No,” he said quietly. “You weren’t saved for that. You’ve been kept a prisoner for your own protection, not to be used as a -” He closed his eyes briefly before looking down at Anders again. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s have you up off your knees. You only have to do that -” he gestured to the space under Fenris’ desk where Anders had knelt earlier, “if you actually want to - not because you think it’s expected of you.” He rose to his feet and tugged Anders up with him.

“But it’s alright,” insisted Anders. “I _like_ cock - particularly sucking cocks!”

Dorian stared at him. “Where were you when I was a lonely man in Minrathous?” he uttered, and sighed.

“Probably on the run from the wardens,” Fenris said as he approached with a clean shirt. “Get your things, we need to go, soon.” He was in the armor he’d found upstairs, and had Leto’s staff strapped to his back along with a rucksack of things he wanted, and was wearing his wedding rings. 

“Go where?” asked Dorian. “I need to get my notes - where exactly are we going? And what are we going to do about him?” he added, gesturing at Anders.

“Back to my Thedas, and he’s coming back with us. He has to,” Fenris replied as he took his desk and started to write out a letter for Ambassador Montilyet, disbanding the Inquisition and informing her of their departure. 

“But - but, my notes, my research - I haven’t had a chance to test them yet!” exclaimed Dorian. “And we’ll never managed to get him past the guards like this!”

“You can chain me if you like,” said Anders. “If it’s to escape here? You can clap me in irons and I’ll not make a sound of objection, believe me. Even those magic-nullifying ones!”

“I can teleport us to where I need to open a portal. Now go get your research, your notes and whatever you can carry...now,” Fenris said quietly as he tried not to show his annoyance at so many questions. 

Dorian’s eyes showed clearly that he didn’t understand, but mercifully he chose not to argue further. With a last glance at Anders, he turned and hurried off.

Anders regarded Fenris with a look of curiosity. “Teleport? Like before, you mean?” he asked. “I’m pretty certain Leto can’t do that. Is it a mage thing - could _I_ learn, for instance? Or is it something the lyrium allows you to do?” He stared at Fenris, then backed away a step. “Or, I can just sit down over here, keep my mouth shut, and just wait and see where you take us, hmm? Gift horses, mouths and so forth.” He sat down in the chair opposite Fenris’ desk and watched the elf intently. “I’m assuming this means it’ll be a while before I get to feel that fantastic knot of yours, firmly wedged in my arse then? A shame - I was looking forward to that, even more than the chance to shag you. I mean - I’ll happily forgo that and settle just for letting you use my mouth as long as there’s a chance you’ll fuck me at some point. Over your desk perhaps?” He shrank back against the chair back as Fenris briefly looked up at him then turned his attention back to his writing again.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I.... Nervous habit, I babble and... shut up Anders,” he muttered to himself and dropped his gaze.

“Careful... I am sorely tempted to do that but we don’t have the time,” Fenris said as he waved the parchment to dry it, even as he gave Anders an utterly filthy look. He glanced up as the other man fell quiet. 

“You can, you know,” Anders said softly. “You can do anything you like to me. You’ve given me life, and you’re taking me away from here. Maker knows, I don’t deserve a second chance - and maybe you’re only taking me until you have no further use for me, but until then? I’m yours, and you can do as you like. And I thank you, because... honestly? I’ve had peace for the first time in years. You might decide tomorrow that I have to die - but here, now? I’m thanking you for letting me live this long. That you didn’t just lock me up in a cell and forget about me.” He stared at the desk, then back at Fenris. “So if you decide you want my mouth, I will kneel at your feet gladly. If you decide you want to bend me over the desk? I’ll bend with a smile.” He smiled softly. “Besides, I was telling the truth; I _do_ love cock - sucking it and taking it.”

Fenris was horrified at the other man’s words, he hadn’t freed him to basically be a body slave. “No, I freed you because...because you remind me of my Anders, and you are...a good man now that Vengeance is gone. You sound like a body slave, and Dumat strike me dead twice if I ever treat anyone like that. I had a wonderful time, you...were amazing but please, I just want you to be happy.”

Anders blinked at him. “But... Fenris, I _am_ happy,” he shrugged. “I _enjoyed_ sucking your cock. And I thought it was pretty clear how much I loved taking it - or are you forgetting that I basically begged you to let me climb on for a ride? I’m not in a dungeon cell, I’m not dead - even if I wasn’t ready to come back, I’m rather glad to be alive!”

“You sound like....” Fenris sighed and dropped his head in his hands. “Sorry...I was just worried I had hurt you and I heard Dorian ask if I’d used you Anders. I didn’t want anyone to think I was treating you like a slave.” 

“You aren’t,” said Anders quietly. “You haven’t. It didn’t hurt, I just... wasn’t quite ready, was all.” His eyes were on the floor now. “And I’m sorry if the others now think that’s what was happening. Not that I would even mind if it were, because frankly I feel more at peace and content now than I have since Hawke died.”

“I’m sorry Endrin died,” Fenris said quietly before he pulled Anders to him and just held him close as they waited. 

Anders was silent, but he leaned into Fenris’ embrace.

That was how Zevran found them, perhaps an hour later; he was arguing with someone over his shoulder but fell silent as he entered Fenris’ office, then stepped aside as Josephine entered.

“Fenris?” she asked quietly. “What is going on? Why is Zevran dressed in his Crow armour? He refuses to tell me what is going on.” She tapped her foot testily as she stared at Anders. “And please tell me that you at least had Anders clearly your prisoner as you brought him here?”

Anders wordlessly crossed his wrists and held them up, as if mutely showing her how Fenris had led him, then rested them in his lap - all without looking up.

“He has been a good little prisoner, eh?” said Zevran. “You see, Josephine, what did I tell you? You worry too much.” He moved past her into the room.

“It’s as well _one_ of us is, then,” she muttered towards his back; he glanced back and grinned.

“I worry just enough, Josie - enough to keep my neck out of the noose, at least!” He turned and climbed up the ladder to Fenris’ bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Fenris asked as he stared at the door. 

“I do not know how long it will take for Dorian to return or how far we must travel,” said Zevran as he climbed. “So! Like all good little assassins must, I am going to take a nap whilst I can.” He disappeared up into Fenris’ room; a moment later, they heard the bed creak as the Antivan stretched out, and then there was silence.

“I can’t believe him,” Fenris said as he reluctantly let go of Anders and handed Josephine the letter he’d written. “We’re leaving and the Inquisition is to be disbanded. It's what we did in my world, and frankly...it was a bad idea to even try and keep things going as long as we have.”

“Vengeance evidently had his reasons,” said Josephine as she scanned the letter with a small frown. “This is... Maker’s breath, Fenris. I have no idea what’s going to happen with this, particularly when people realise you’ve just... _vanished_. Have you any idea how long it takes to wind down an organisation the size of the Inquisition??”

“Yes, but...this is my chance to get home, and I cannot leave them here to suffer from what Leto has done,” Fenris replied as he began to pace. “What is taking Dorian so long…?” 

“Fenris,” said Josephine quietly. “Skyhold has been Dorian’s only real home for several years now. He has his research notes and many things that mean much to him here. This is not your home, Zevran is a Crow and is used to moving around a lot and travels light, and Anders can remember very little of any home in the past ten years or more. It will be easy for all of you to leave. But for Dorian? I think he will be finding this very hard. He likely had not ever thought of leaving. Even when in Tevinter on business, he still thinks of Skyhold as home. Here is where he has been safe, and now you’re asking him to give all of that up for an uncertain future - he does not even know where you are planning to take him right _now_. And if you are taking back to your world, what for him then?”

“Anything has to be safer for him than staying here without Fenris,” said Anders quietly. “If Leto steps through as you take us there... well. From what I’ve heard you both say repeatedly around me, Leto won’t protect him - and you seem to think Dorian would be at risk of harm from him. If Zevran stays, maybe he can protect him - but I don’t think he will, somehow. Zevran seems too set on leaving.”

Josephine regarded him sharply for a moment, then looked to Fenris. “Is it likely that Leto will return as you go home? Will you each step into your own worlds at the same moment?”

“Unless Ellowynne brings him with her, then no. It’s possible, or for all we know he has no idea what she’s up to. I have no idea, I’m sorry,” Fenris replied.

“I see. And if you encounter him in your world?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. “Will you kill him, as you’ve said?”

Anders glanced up at that, but said nothing, merely watched Fenris.

“For what he’s done here, the hurt and harm he’s caused? If he won’t let Dorian or Zevran alone, or if he even comes near Anders I will take his heart with a smile,” Fenris replied as he stared down the Antivan woman before him. “Is that a request?”

“No,” she replied coolly. “As I think you know, Fenris. If I wanted him dead then I would have said so. I wouldn’t be able to trust Zevran to be able to do it, after all - not unless I wanted to harm Zevran badly. Which I don’t.” She turned and started to pace. “You are leaving me with a huge mess to clean up behind you, Fenris,” she went on. “The thinness of the Veil beneath the Rookery, the strangeness around the Inquisitor’s quarters, my Spymaster gone with no idea of all the codes he used with his agents or ways to recall them? Even the bloody _birds_ look to him! And you are taking our best mage with you; no-one else here has a tenth of the experience or power of Dorian!”

“I know, but what will you do when Leto gets back and finds so much changed? You saw the dungeon, you saw what Vengeance made him do. It is not safe here for them, or me once Leto gets back. He’ll try to kill me for taking over his life. I’m sorry and I know I’m leaving a mess. But I cannot leave them behind. We could have just left, we could have just gone without a word but ...please understand. Please.” Fenris sounded worried as he watched Josephine and wished Zevran was still awake to help.

“Frankly, I daren’t try to handle any of this _without_ Leto, Fenris. With all of you gone, I’ll be facing assassination attempts on my own life - not only from the existing enemies of the Inquisition, but from those inside the Inquisition who seek to make their own bid for power,” she replied. “At least if Leto lives, then I can hold things together under threat of what he will do when he returns. I can tell people that the three of you have left for a mission - Leto often took both Dorian and Zevran with him. We can put the word about that you have chosen to take Anders with you to... deal with him.” She glanced at Anders, then to Fenris. “The Inquisitor had past form for doing that with members of the Inquisition who displeased him; we all knew what it meant when he took Blackwall with him alone without so much as an escort. We’ll send the three of you out on horses, we’ll have Anders ride between you and Zevran. Everyone will assume you will execute him somewhere on your journey.” She darted another look at Anders.

“If it will keep you safe, Josephine, then Zevran can tie my hands behind my back,” said Anders quietly. “I’ll play along and you can let people think he’s going to slit my throat behind the first bend in the road we come to, or throw me off a bridge. If it protects you then I’ll go along with whatever you think best.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “We did not have you executed immediately, so I think people will be expecting something like this to happen.”

Anders lowered his gaze. “Would people expect me to be terrified?” he asked, not looking up.

“How much do you remember of Blackwall’s death?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment. “I think I can do a fairly good impression of being too terrified to resist,” he finally whispered. “Maker knows... I would be.” He shuddered, closing his eyes.

“Fine… fine, that’s what we’ll do,” Fenris said as he started to pace and stare out the window as he passed it, getting worked up as he noticed the sun creeping higher in the sky. “We’ll be at the main gate soon,” he said on his next circuit.

The door opened and Dorian burst in, out of breath and carrying several bags. He dropped one at Anders’ feet. “Clothes,” he said tersely. He dropped another by his own feet. “All my research papers, and as much lyrium and other potions as I could manage to carry.”

“Good, people will assume the bag of Anders’ clothes is camping equipment,” said Josephine. “I shall have the horses called.” She rose from her perch on the corner of Fenris’ desk and left swiftly.

“Horses? Camping gear? What...?” exclaimed Dorian as Anders rose and headed for the ladder.

“You’ll see,” shrugged Anders. “Just play along. As far as anyone knows, you’re taking me off somewhere to let Zevran kill me before going off on one of your missions.” He glanced to Fenris. “I’ll go wake Zevran.” He began to climb up to Fenris’ bedroom; a moment later they heard the bed creak and then low voices.

Dorian turned to Fenris, aghast. “A ruse? Please tell me Zevran is only going to pretend to march him off to his death?” he exclaimed. He was looking rather frazzled and worried. “There won’t be anyone following us?” He shook his head. “It was bad enough with that ghastly business with the Bull. Though I don’t think any of us were surprised when Vengeance marched Blackwall off; we were only surprised he’d chosen to do it himself instead of leaving it to Zevran. We have never been able to fathom why he’d chosen to order him released from prison in the first place.”

“I just want this done, so we can be on our way,” Fenris said tiredly

Zevran was climbing down the ladder, Anders just behind him. The Antivan had one of the lengths of rope in his hand; as Anders reached the bottom of the ladder Zevran pushed him against it and tugged Anders’ hands behind his back. Anders held still as the Crow tied him up; then Zevran turned him around to stare at him critically. He yanked the shirt hard so one sleeve tore and hung loose off his shoulder, then frowned. 

“Forgive me, friend,” he murmured as he lifted a gloved hand.

Anders closed his eyes; the slap of Zevran’s hand against his cheek was loud in the suddenly hushed room as Anders’ head snapped to one side. Zevran lowered his hand and regarded Anders remorsefully as the mage glanced back at him, his cheek already bruising.

“Nothing personal, you understand?” the Crow murmured. Anders managed to smile.

“I understand,” he shrugged, then looked up at Fenris and Dorian. “Fenris... when we arrive in your Skyhold? Can I get drunk?”

“Of course, I think I’ll be right with you when we get there,” Fenris replied before taking the bag with Anders clothes and one of Dorian’s before giving the room one last look over. “Let’s get this damned nug and pony show over with.” 

Josephine escorted them as they headed down to the gate, Zevran taking Anders’ arm as they went. Anders stared around himself, looking dazed and terrified; Fenris wasn’t sure how he managed to achieve it, but Anders had turned almost white and was trembling slightly as Zevran dragged him towards a waiting horse. Two guards stood nearby to haul him up into the horse’s saddle as the others mounted up, Zevran guiding his horse over to take the reins of Anders’ horse.

“Does the prisoner have any last words?” asked Josephine in a bored tone. Anders was staring at Zevran, shaking.

“Enough. We will return in two weeks, Josie,” said Zevran in a bored voice as he nudged his horse forwards.

They set off in silence, Anders keeping up the performance until they had passed two turns in the road, and then he slumped with a loud exhalation. 

“Zevran, I can’t feel my hands and I’m going to throw up,” he groaned. “Someone get me off this horse.”

“How did you manage that?” demanded Dorian. “You were white and shaking! You looked to be utterly petrified!”

Anders gave him an exhausted grin. “Healing magic - ramped up the adrenaline in my bloodstream,” he replied. “I’m about to have a rather nasty come-down. But no-one back there will expect to see me living and breathing again, nor will they come looking.” Zevran was leaning over him, untying the rope before he dismounted and helped Anders down.

“I had no idea you could do that,” Fenris said in surprise. He glanced up at the sky and tried to figure out what time it was. “I think we have a couple of hours. I need you to hold on to me, and...maybe help me, because four people and their horses is a lot more than I thought I’d have to take with us, and I might need time to recover.” 

“It was a useful trick a couple of times whilst on the run,” shrugged Anders. “Uh... Maker, I really _am_ going to throw up in a minute, but if you’re about to pull that teleportation trick again I can hold it until afterwards. I remember how badly I threw up last time, and I’d rather not do that on an already-empty stomach. What do you need?”

“Your power, it’s what my brother did to teach me the trick. I might need to draw on your power and Dorian’s to get us there.” Fenris rode over and rested a hand on Anders, his smile was nervous. 

“Alright,” said Anders as he closed his eyes and called up mana. “Take all you need,” he added, his voice taking on a distant tone. 

Dorian guided his horse closer as Zevran nudge his horse to stand flank-to-flank with the others. “Here... you just need me to open myself as a conduit to the Fade, yes?” he asked, calling up mana in his hand.

“I’m a spirit healer,” said Anders absently. “If my mana isn’t enough then I can draw on my own life force.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Dorian hastily as he held his hand out to Fenris.

“Zevran, hold on to me and your horse. This won’t be easy,” Fenris said as he lit his brands and pictured Adamant, the stone walls and the camp he’d last seen. He felt a hard yanking sensation before they were pulled into the desert, and he had to rein his horse in before it could throw him off. “Sound off!”

Anders reeled, staggering about three steps before he collapsed to the ground. All four horses were staggering, and Dorian was barely holding himself upright in the saddle, looking as though he was about to throw up.

Zevran managed to dismount and walked a short distance away, pulling off his Crow mask to spit heavily into the dust before turning to take care of the horses. “Anders is unconscious. The horses are disoriented, and Dorian had better dismount before he falls,” he said.

“Alright, I’ll get them,” Fenris said as he pulled Dorian off and laid him in the sand, then went to check on Anders. “Hey… no time for a nap.”

Anders groaned, curling up into a fetal shape as he clutched his stomach.

“I shall tend to him,” said Zevran as he replaced his Crow mask to protect his nose and mouth from the dusty wind. As Fenris moved away to help Dorian, who was staggering towards a broken wall to throw up, the Crow crouched over Anders.

It was noon. Fenris let them be as he found a spot to concentrate and open the portal as Ellowynne had shown him. He closed his eyes and drew upon his lyrium and his mana to open it. He hadn’t realized how hard it was to do, but he held it, hopeful Ellowynne would finish hers soon. 

As he held the portal, he felt more mana suddenly pour into it, and then he could _see_ a slender, graceful hand reaching through the Fade to take his. As their fingers touched, suddenly the portal snapped open and Ellowynne was standing there. 

As was a Crow.

Fenris had barely a moment to register the presence of the pale-haired man in Crow armour before he heard Zevran behind him hiss, “Crow! Beware!” and then the Antivan leapt through, blades drawn, to sprint for the other elf, his eyes narrowed behind the mask. 

The other elf drew his blades, and with a crash of steel they leapt to fight.

“ _Zio!!_ ” screamed Ellowynne, powerless to stop them as she held the portal open. She looked back to Fenris, eyes wide in alarm. “Fenris! Quickly!”

Dorian had Anders in his arms and was looking towards them, worried. “Fenris! Anders is unconscious!”

“Carry him through!” Fenris shouted as he strained to keep the portal open. “Put him on a horse and send him through, this is ...a strain!”

He held the portal, his arms trembling with the strain as he watched both Zevrans duel. He groaned as he watched his own Zevran driving himself on, striving to keep the blades of Leto’s Zevran away from his body. Fenris could see for himself what a toll his past injuries had taken on his own Zevran, and the result was a forgone conclusion. Even so, Fenris couldn’t restrain the scream of denial that burst from his lips, echoed by Ellowynne as finally a blade slipped past his guard and struck home, embedding itself in his Zevran’s guts.

Zevran screamed and collapsed, clutching at the spreading red stain as he writhed in a growing pool of dark crimson. The other Zevran stooped over him with an insane laugh as he snatched away the scarf across Zevran’s mouth and nose, and then recoiled, eyes wide with horror.

Fenris could only groan with distress as he heard the thud of hooves - too late, too late! - as Dorian rode through the gate, Anders cradled in his arms and the other horses driven on before him. He had eyes only for his own Zevran as he fell still, his blood soaking into the sands of Adamant.

“Zevran! No, no… no!” Fenris begged as he watched them. He felt a hand grab his and yank him through the portal before he felt it drop and he ran right to his beloved, cradling him in his arms. “No… no, you can’t die on me!” He ignored the others as he called upon his magic, exhausted as he was to heal his Antivan. “Please, if anyone can hear me, help me!” 

Then Ellowynne was at his side, lending her magic. “ _Zio_... Papa Zevran!” she wept.

“Ellowynne, help me! I need you to help me heal him!” Fenris begged as he tried to figure out where to start. He turned to look for Anders. “Help him, please!” He laid Zevran back and ripped away his armor. “I can’t do this, I had others to help me when we healed Anders....” Fenris said as he pulled his tunic off and pressed it around the knife to stem the bleeding. 

“ _Carissimi_ , it’s going to hurt when I pull the knife, ok? I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Leto’s Zevran was watching, horrified guilt on his face as he stared down at his mirror self. “What have I done?” he whispered. 

The Antivan lay still, one hand clutched to the dreadful wound as he panted, eyes glazed and staring at nothing. If he was aware of Fenris or the others, he gave no sign of it.

“Anders is still out cold!” called Dorian as he cradled the limp form of the blond mage. “I can’t wake him!”

“What was he even doing here?” exclaimed Fenris distractedly as he reached inside himself for the still-unfamiliar magic. “ _Venhedis_ , he could bleed out when I remove the knife, but it can’t stay in there!”

“He leapt through at the last minute as I formed the portal to come here,” replied Ellowynne as she called up her own magic and laid her hands on Zevran’s body. “There was no time to send him back - I needed to open the portal to you. I didn’t know that Leto’s Zevran would view him as a threat!” She glanced up at the other Zevran briefly before returning her attention to the stricken elf. “I’ll stem the bleeding as you pull out the knife,” she added.

“Very well,” nodded Fenris as he took hold of the knife hilt.

As he wrenched the blade from Zevran’s body, the Antivan arched his back and screamed, clutching at the open wound before collapsing back onto the dusty ground, body shaking with the shock. Fenris hurled the blade away from him before laying his hands over the wound and sinking his awareness into Zevran’s body.

He knew Zevran’s body intimately now - or, rather, a _version_ of it. Leto’s Zevran had sustained fewer wounds, less scars, and as Fenris summoned up healing wisps and guided them, it was that other body he used as his map now as he focused his magic. He could feel Ellowynne’s magic, whispering coolness that soothed as she worked to seal the wound and stop the bleeding. Fenris followed her magic, augmenting it with his own, holding firmly in his mind what he had seen inside of Leto’s Zevran. That was his blueprint now, as he sought out each of the wounds his Zevran had taken in the short duel.

Ellowynne was focusing on the knife wound as Fenris sought to stop Zevran’s body from going into shock. He focused on how Zevran’s body should feel at rest, and as he let his own magic wash through the Antivan he could feel Zevran’s heart slowing, his breathing calming, until Fenris lifted a hand to gently stroke Zevran’s forehead and he instinctively nudged him into a peaceful sleep.

He stared down at Zevran’s body and let himself slip halfway into the Fade as he swept an incorporeal hand through the other elf’s limbs, gently coaxing the wisps to each old wound and hurt, working on the scarring, holding in his mind the unscarred body of Leto’s Zevran.

And then he came to the terrible long scar down Zevran’s leg; the one that had crippled him. He touched the bone that had been broken twice, and the wisps clustered around it, weaving the fabric of bone anew to match the form he showed them in his mind - the smooth, unbroken bone as it was before the terrible fight with the possessed Invictus. He went deeper; focused on the scarred and twisted muscles, the atrophied tendons; from hip to calf, he pulled the wisps to where they needed to rebuild Zevran’s leg, return it to the smooth, unblemished state that he recalled from touching the other Zevran with his magic.

“Fenris... Fenris, what have you done?” breathed Ellowynne.

Fenris opened his eyes as he pulled his hand and his awareness from Zevran’s sleeping body, and blinked as sounds and noises crowded back in. He felt weak and drained; exhausted beyond all measure. He looked down at Zevran and saw that although his clothes were soaked and stained with blood, a slash running through the fabric over Zevran’s abdomen, the golden brown skin beneath was unblemished, unscarred, smooth as though it had never known the kiss of a blade.

“I’m sorry.... I’m so sorry,” breathed the other Zevran. “ _Mi dispiace_... I did not know, I thought he was some Crow assassin who had lain in wait for us!”

“No,” said Fenris tiredly. “He is my _carissimi_. My husband.” He gazed down at Zevran, whose chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths in peaceful sleep.

He blinked; his vision was blurring, growing dark. He heard Ellowynne call his name, and then nothing.

**

Fenris could hear people talking quietly as he came around, thought he wasn’t sure who was talking yet, or even where he was. He felt a soft mattress and someone was asleep next to him, but the bed was too soft for even a private infirmary room. He turned his head to see Zevran next to him, sound asleep. “Love?” he asked as he turned over to touch the elf, hoping he hadn’t hurt him rather than helped.

Zevran lay sleeping peacefully. Someone had undressed him, and as Fenris drew back the covers to study his body, he could see no sign of all the scars he had grown familiar with on the Antivan’s body. Though the muscle of his weaker leg looked a little less than that of his stronger one, the scar that had run from hip to calf, twisting the muscle, was gone. He could see at a glance that with careful exercise and work, Zevran would regain that lost muscle and full mobility swiftly.

Zevran was oblivious to his scrutiny, sleeping deeply. Fenris thought he could have kissed the man and he wouldn’t have stirred.

As Fenris glanced around, he realised they were back in Anders’ old rooms. Beyond the gauzy curtains that separated the sleeping area from the main room, he could see Anders and Invictus talking together quietly. Anders gestured to the corner, and following the gesture with his eyes Fenris spotted Leto’s Anders, sitting huddled in a chair, bewilderment and confusion in his face as he looked around warily. Of Leto’s Dorian and Zevran, there was no sign - nor of Ellowynne.

He realized someone stripped him off too, more than likely because he’d gotten bloody from his husband’s wounds. Fenris found pants laid across a chair for him and stepped out to greet them, a little worried about how things had gone, before he saw Leto. “Why is he here?” he asked as ice came to him. 

Anders turned to greet him with a smile then froze as he took in the ice shards forming in his hand and the palpable aura of magic radiating from the elf. He stepped forward slowly, lifting his hands as he stepped between Fenris and Leto. “Love? How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“Tired, didn’t realize a portal was so draining.” He kept his gaze locked on his double as he stared the other elf down. “Leto, why are you in our rooms?” he asked again quietly.

“I…” Leto started to reply before he realized how angry his double was. He knew, he had to know all that he had done in his world. He fell quiet, unsure what to say. 

“Love, Leto’s been looking after your brother and helping us,” said Anders quietly. “Aeolus is....” He paused, and glanced to Vic, worried, before he returned his attention to Fenris. “Things have been going very wrong around here, and both Zevran and Aeolus were hurt. Zevran and Ellowynne disappeared, and we had no idea where to - Leto has been helping us search, after taking care of Aeolus. There was... an altercation with Meneris.”

Fenris’ head turned to his husband, his expression growing darker as he listened. “An altercation...what happened to my brother? You look scared to tell me.” 

“Love calm down, you’re new to having magic and you could hurt someone without meaning to, like Ellowynne did when she was younger. Please rein in your temper?” Vic pleaded.

Anders held Fenris’ gaze as he took a cautious step closer, hands held out to show he was no threat. “Love... Aeolus has lost an eye,” he said quietly, then halted.

In the corner, Leto’s Anders was watching them both; he tore his gaze away to look up at Leto, a look of dread on his face. As the elf glanced down at him, Anders’ movement catching the corner of his eye, Anders dropped his gaze to the floor, flinching slightly.

“Lost an eye… because of Meneris?” Fenris started to ask again but shut his mouth and went back into the sleeping area so he could fully dress. He was quiet as he found spare clothes and, thankfully, his sword. He stepped back out with that unnerving look he got during battle. “Please take Leto elsewhere because the Anders I brought back is terrified of him and so are Dorian and ...where is the other Zevran?”

The Anders in question lifted his head slightly. “The guards came for him and he surrendered to them,” he said quietly. “They took him away in chains somewhere. I don’t know where.”

Anders glanced back at him, then turned back to Fenris. Unheeding of any danger to himself he crossed swiftly to Fenris and laid his hands on Fenris’ shoulders. “Love - stop, please; put the sword down? There’s been enough fighting and you’ll only make things worse if you attack Meneris or Leto!”

“He took my brother’s eye; I don’t think there’s much Aeolus could have done to warrant that, love.” Fenris felt his hands smoking as he tried to calm down. “What do you mean there’s been enough fighting?” 

“We’ve been at each other’s throats while you’re gone love, and Leto hasn’t done anything to make you want to fight him.” Vic fell quiet at the stony look he got for his words.

“Oh he hasn’t? So he hasn’t told you about the things he’s done in his world to make Zevran, his Zevran terrified of him? How he used them both? See how the other Anders looks? That is not someone who hasn’t done anything to be hurt Vic. I promised them I wouldn't let him hurt them anymore. I should beat you to a smear for all I’ve learned about you, Leto!” 

Anders had pressed himself against Fenris now, his head slightly bowed as he stared at Fenris’ hands and felt the heat radiating from them. He could sense fire magic dancing just out of sight, barely reined in, and he closed his eyes, focusing on thoughts of cool water and the ice of the Frostback mountains before he lifted a hand then swiftly wove a counterspell to disperse the fire before it could fully manifest. 

“Aeolus attacked Zevran,” he said quietly. “Not once, but twice - once whilst I still lay unconscious in the infirmary, love,” he added. “The second time, he injured Zevran badly. And there was an incident where Dorian was hurt - knocked down and suffered a head injury. Meneris saw red and lashed out with that silverite fist of his. Isabela went to deal with him; I don’t know what happened. But.... Fenris, you’re angry - and like this? Someone is going to get badly hurt, and it will only make everything so much worse! No matter what Leto has done, do you think Invictus or I would stand by and let any harm come to his Anders or Dorian?” 

“You got rid of my fire,” Fenris said quietly, a little unnerved by how it felt. He sighed and rested his head against Anders’ shoulder and hugged his husband as he let his anger go. “You’re right.” he said finally, though his voice was muffled. He just stayed there, holding the blond close as it sunk in that he was really back home. 

“I’ll teach you how to counterspell, love,” murmured Anders. “Later. Maker, I am so glad you’re home, love. When I realised Vic had brought back the wrong Fenris, it... it almost finished me.”

“He’s being literal love, it was touch and go for a while.” Vic said as he came over and caressed the back of Fenris’ head since he couldn’t get behind the elf for a hug. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Fenris reached up for Vic’s hand, and held on to his loves as he tried not to sob but it was no use. He was home, and had them all back and realizing it was a bit much after waking up.

In the corner, the other Anders was watching them reunite and biting back tears. The love between the three men was clear to see, but as he gazed at Fenris he could only think on how he’d had so few brief truly happy moments over the past few days - and all of them involved Fenris. He remembered how happy he’d been in Fenris’ arms... but gazing at his mirror self, he knew he’d only been borrowing someone else’s happiness. He wished fervently that things could have been like that for him.

He lifted his head to look up at Leto. “Are you going to kill me?” he whispered.

“No… I had no intent of killing any of you. I didn’t even know you were freed from the demon. I thought...I’d thought it would fall to me after Vengeance took you over,” Leto replied just as quietly, with a glance to Anders. “It’s good to see you back to yourself.” He gave the blond a sad smile before heading away from the happy reunion before they saw him break.

Anders leapt up from his seat; with a last glance back at the others, he ran after Leto.

“Leto! Wait!” he exclaimed. “Please. Please, just - just talk to me. I’m missing nearly ten years of my life and - and I’m lost. Please. Talk to me?”

“Sure, maybe we can … work some things out?” Leto said hopefully as he stared down at Anders, glad he was freed of the demon. “Come on, my room isn’t far away.” He took the other man’s hand in his and led him quietly, his mind on all he had to fill him in on from the past decade.

Anders followed, trying to quell the irrational surge of fear that rose as Leto led him down one of the shadowy hallways that led off the main corridor. He knew little of the man leading him now save for those brief periods when Vengeance had allowed him to watch from the back of his own mind, helpless, as the demon controlled his body. The merciless warrior, later fierce, implacable mage, dispensing Vengeance’s rule and executing his judgments as the Inquisitor’s right hand. He remembered overhearing Fenris and Josie talk; how they were convinced that Leto would kill him. Yet he allowed himself to be led into Leto’s room; and he went to the chair by the small writing desk, sitting down and glancing up at the tall elf as Leto closed the door and stood before it.

“Are you hungry?” Leto asked as he watched Anders, unsure what to do with him.

Anders regarded him a little nervously. “Uh, a little? Maybe? I wasn’t fed yesterday.” He grimaced slightly. “I don’t want to be any trouble though.”

“It’s not trouble, and I need to eat too.” Leto said before stepping out to request a tray be sent and a lot of wine. He sat across from Anders and fidgeted, unsure what to start with. Finally he glanced up and gave him a sad smile. “Did Fenris treat you well at least?” 

Anders dropped his gaze to the hem of his shirt, then tugged the torn sleeve up futilely to try and cover his bare, bony shoulder. “Fenris did, yes. He... he made sure I had candles... told them to stop putting magebane in my food. And he had me moved after the templar incident.” He glanced up, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his eyes as he gave Leto a hesitant smile. “Really, I- I have no complaints. Not really. And.... and last night was....” He glanced away for a moment. “He was very kind to me,” he said softly. 

“Last night was.…” Leto said as he noticed the bruise on the other man’s face. “Did he hit you? After all he railed at me for what I’ve done? If he hit you I’ll go have a word with my other self.” 

Anders glanced back at him and raised his hand to the bruise across his cheek, eyes widening. “Hit me? Maker, no! That was Zevran! They were supposed to be taking me off into the woods so Zevran could kill me. He hit me and tied me up - I was supposed to still be a prisoner you see.”

“I...see,” Leto said warily as he reached out and turned Anders’ face gently. “I’m glad you weren’t actually being carted off to slaughter then.” He sat back and gave the other mage a once over, noting how the clothes hung on him and realized they were his. “He put you in my clothes?” 

Anders shrugged. “Mine were bloodstained where they stabbed me, I think. I didn’t really have anything, and then the stuff I did have, I’d been wearing for over a week.” He touched his filthy hair a little self-consciously. “He gave me a change of clothes, but - well.” He glanced down at the torn sleeve, the stains down the front, and his cheeks flamed red as he remembered how he’d gotten the stains. “He only had your stuff, after all, and... well. We were in his - sorry, your rooms, so he gave me this to wear.”

“In my rooms...why were… you know what? I don’t want to know. Go get a bath while we wait for food; the bathing chamber is through that door.” Leto gestured. 

Anders glanced up. “It was when he killed the templar who wanted to cut my head off,” he said quietly, finally meeting Leto’s eye. “He tore the man’s heart out. Messy business, that; blood everywhere. The bastards laid a Smite on me, damned near wrenched my arm out of its socket and gave me a nosebleed. My clothes were torn and filthy, so he took me to his rooms to give me a change of clothes and to let me at least wash my face, because the room I’d been in didn’t even have a wash basin. And he gave me this shirt because he didn’t want me sitting around topless, and kept me with him. It was better than being put in one of the jail cells. I wasn’t going to say no.”

“I’m going to have words with him later,” Leto said quietly as he got up. “Where are Dorian and Zevran? I want to talk to them as well, and see if I can get you something clean to wear.” 

“I’m not sure where Dorian is,” said Anders. “But Zevran surrendered to the guards and they took him away in chains. I think he’s been taken for questioning.”

“For stabbing the other him? Or did they see that bruise on your face?” Leto asked as he looked around the room and realized how little he had with him. “I’ll find Dorian, enjoy the bath and I’ll be back soon.” 

Anders rose to his feet. “I don’t know why they took him. He seemed to be expecting it though. I’d passed out shortly after we’d arrived at Adamant and only really recovered my senses as we arrived here. Damned inconvenient to have passed out just when everything seemed to be happening - but then I suppose I’m used to it by now. That’s all my memory of the past ten years has been, really - a lot of blanks with occasional peeks through my eyes, watching whilst Vengeance walked around in my skin.” He sighed. “I think I need a bath and then wine. A _lot_ of wine.” 

“I’ve requested wine with our meal,! Leto replied. “I’ll be back soon.” He headed off, but left instructions for their meal to be left as he’d be right back. He wandered for a bit before looking for that healer Parcival or someone who could tell him where Dorian had been put up. He entered the infirmary first. 

The first person he ran into was Maryam, the woman whose staff Parcival had commandeered earlier. She glanced up as she straightened from changing the linen on a cot and arched her eyebrows at him. “Hello, ser. Is there something I can assist you with?” Her eyes went briefly to her staff on his back then returned to his face.

“I’m looking for Dorian - the other one, not the one who is married to the Inquisitor?” Leto asked as he wondered at mages working freely around the Keep. 

She frowned slightly. “The other... Oh!” Her face cleared as she recalled who he meant. “Oh, First Enchanter Parcival took him across to the College Tower; all the quarters for visiting mages are over there, ser.” She chuckled. “I had to think, for a moment there, for of course we all know ‘Dorian’ as being just the poor fellow married to the Inquisitor. It’s so terrible what’s happened to him, isn’t it, ser? First his skull cracked, and then some insane pirate woman tried to gouge his eye out, from what I heard tell! Why -”

“Maryam!” called one of the other healers. “Are you gossipping again? We’re still waiting for clean linens for the other ward!”

“Maker bless me - excuse me, ser!” Maryam exclaimed. “I must go, but - do be a dear and drop off my staff at the desk down there when you’ve finished with it?” She smiled, patted Leto on the arm, and then hurried off with the basket of linens.

“But I don’t know where you desk is!” Leto called out as she hurried away. “What in the Void, do mages always just hand their staff off to strangers here?” He asked as he looked for a desk on the way to the tower. He laid it across the first desk he saw and headed up while he considered what he’d been told. Apparently Isabela had paid a visit after they’d left them, which would explain why he hadn’t seen the former Inquisitor or his spouse in the last day.

He kept going to the College and stopped in his tracks as he got to the top of the stairs, a little thrown by seeing so many people wandering about. “Void, how will I find him?”

A young man with black hair and friendly blue eyes paused then did a double take. “Master Fenris?? ... oh... pardon me, you’re that other chap, aren’t you? Leto?” he asked. “Are you alright, ser? You look a little lost.”

“Yes, I was looking for the other Dorian that came back with Fenris, I was told he was brought here.” 

“Oh, he’ll probably be in the guest quarters upstairs,” said the young man. “Follow me - bit of a maze around here if you’re not used to it.” He turned and headed for the sweeping spiral staircase that swept up towards the upper levels. “I suppose now Master Fenris is here, you’ll be going back to your own world with your people then? This Dorian and the others? Though I think the guard are rather busy with your Crow chap.” He led them up to the next level.

“The guard, oh… where is Zevran?” Leto asked as he glanced around the College, kind of in awe of the space that mages had here. “Why do the guard have him?”

The young man glanced back at him, the smile replaced with a more sombre expression. “He stabbed Master Zevran and nearly killed him. He surrendered himself immediately the guard arrived; said something about other crimes to confess to, and they took him away. I should think he’ll be in one of the interrogation rooms near the dungeons under the keep proper.” He turned back to carry on leading the way. “Guest quarters are just up on this next level. Your friend is next door to another of our Tevinter guests.”

“Another of your Tevinter guests...oh, her,” Leto said quietly as he passed by and headed up to find them. He should have asked for a number or something before leaving the other mage, but he had four doors to choose from, and had no idea which was the right one. 

As he studied them and wondered which one to choose first, a tall woman with short golden hair stepped out of the door immediately to his left. She halted, regarding Leto in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see _you_ here, Fenris. If you’re looking for Varania, you’ve just missed her; she’s gone up to the research library again. Catching up on research before going back to Tevinter, no doubt.” The woman breezed past him. “Give my love to darling Anders, won’t you?” She headed back down the stairs.

“I’m not...him,” he said as she breezed by. He decided to try the door next to the one she’d left out of and hoped it was his Dorian, and that the man he sought was there. He knocked and waited.

There was silence for a moment, and then he heard Dorian’s voice, sounding subdued. “It’s open.”

Leto opened the door and stopped as he saw his Dorian, the one he loved. He wanted to go to him, apologize and beg forgiveness but he wasn’t sure how he’d be received after their earlier reunion. “May I….may I talk to you?” 

Dorian was sitting at a writing desk, his back to the door, but the moment he heard Leto’s voice he hastily stood and turned, eyes widening as he recognised Leto. He swallowed hard as he turned, his back now pressed against the edge of the writing desk. “ _Am-amatus_! Of course!”

“I don’t deserve to be your _amatus_ ; we both know that, don’t we, Dorian,” Leto said as he remained still, his gaze dropped down, almost submissive as he expected to be thrown out or cussed back to the Black City. “If I wasn’t in front of the door, you’d be gone already.” 

“What would be the point in running?” murmured Dorian as he dropped back down into the chair and stared up at Leto. “You’ve found me even after I’ve been dragged to a different world. Have you... are you here to take me back home then?”

“No, I ... just want to talk to you and Zevran, Anders...our Anders is in the room they let me have. If you hate me, I deserve it. Being here has changed me, and shown me just how fucked up how I treated both of you was. I don’t know what happened back in our world, or if we can go back. Who there can open a portal for us now anyway?” Leto curled up on himself and waited for the berating he thought he deserved.

“You... you haven’t hurt Anders?” asked Dorian hesitantly. “You... you aren’t going to... to punish Zevran, are you?” He frowned slightly. “You took your anger out on him, didn’t you, _amatus_? Each time you spent the night with him - you took your anger out on him rather than inflict it on me, didn’t you? He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve _any_ of that! And Vengeance was going to - going to hang him! We - we couldn’t let that happen, we... we had to strike whilst we could. We... killed him.” He stared at Leto, a little pale, as though worried what Leto’s reaction would be.

“No… I’m not going to punish him, or you or Anders. I just want to….” Leto covered his face as he lost his composure. He’d faced what he’d done to them via that damned dungeon and he hated himself for what he’d done to them. Finally he looked up at Dorian and let him see how he felt. “I have no power here Dorian, I also have seen how much of a bastard I am. I’m just glad you were able to bring him back, and that he’s not just a shell of the man I knew once. Please Dorian, just ...come with me so you, Anders and I can talk. If I can see Zevran, I’ll talk with him as well. I’m probably safer with him in a cell anyway.” 

“I don’t know where Zevran is,” said Dorian bleakly. “They told me he’s been taken for interrogation. They wouldn’t let me go see him.” He stared down at the floor. “Things have... have changed, Leto. They have changed more than I could have imagined when we thought we’d brought you home from Adamant. The... the Inquisition... after we killed Vengeance, Anders was imprisoned whilst we tried to decide what to do with him. Josephine, Fenris and I took over. We - they found what Zevran had been doing in the interrogation room below the Rookery, and he was forced to recite his crimes before everyone in the great hall. Fenris - as you - publicly forgave him but made it clear that he was only allowed to live at his - your - sufferance, and restored as Spymaster. When we left, Fenris told her to disband the Inquisition. People saw us ride out with Anders as Zevran’s prisoner. They’ll be expecting us to return in two weeks without him. I’m not sure what will happen if we don’t make it back by then.” 

He looked up at Leto. “You’re going to take me back there, aren’t you? I’ll - I’ll come with you. But only if you promise you’ll never hurt Zevran again.”

“Only if you wanted me to be there. Being here has changed me, and I guess you have to see me being different to believe it.” Leto swiped at the tears that had fallen as he heard Dorian and grimaced. “I’d never cry in front of anyone before now, not sure I like it, but ...I just want to talk for now.” 

Dorian blinked at him, then glanced away, disconcerted by Leto’s tears. “If you don’t go back, then in two weeks’ time Josie will have an insurrection on her hands and be fending off assassination attempts from upstarts with an eye to claiming the title of Inquisitor for themselves,” he said quietly. “And they don’t exactly have a lot of love for a magister from Tevinter. If I went back without you, they’d kill she and I both. They nearly killed Zevran as it is - someone managed to slip a poisoned bar of soap into my room and it nearly killed him. Fortunately Josie recognised it. Next time, I might not be so lucky.” He glanced back at Leto. “This isn’t my home or my world. I don’t belong here. If you go back, then I’ll go with you; I just... I just need to know that if Zevran agrees to come, he’ll be safe. That... that things really _will_ change for the better. That you’ll disband the whole bloody Inquisition, because Fenris was right - it’s vastly outlived its original purpose.”

“If we can get back, I’ll… turn myself in and disband the Inquisition. You and I both know I’m not fit to run anything, not with the evil I’ve done. I don’t ... don’t own any of you and I can’t go back to being who I was; not after seeing what actual happiness looks like here. I’m broken, Dorian, and you ...you deserve better,” Leto finished before dropping his face in his hands to cry quietly. 

Dorian was on his feet and had taken two steps towards the elf before he checked himself. “ _Amatus_ ,” he said softly. “That’s what you called me in the Fade at Adamant. ‘Beloved’. Is that still how you feel about me? because... because dammit, Leto, just when I thought we were about to drop all the games and explore what that word truly means to us, all this happened and you were in the wrong world, and - and -”

Dorian broke off with a despairing look. “And _vishante kaffas_ , but I still love you, Leto. I can’t help it. And if there’s a way to get back to our world then I will come with you. But... I don’t know what will happen. Maybe it will be a disaster, but... can we not try, together, to see where things might have led us?” He held out his hand towards Leto. 

Leto looked up and saw Dorian’s hand, and he stared at it for a bit before taking it and pulling the other man to his arms. “I’ve missed you so much, _amatus_.”

“I do have one confession to make,” Dorian said quietly. “Zevran and I... in your absence... we took comfort in one another. I thought you should be aware of that.”

“Then I must confess as well, I took comfort with the Dorian and Zevran here when offered. Though, I send Dorian so far into the Fade he nearly didn’t come back and I think I harmed him more than helped.” Leto let his hand drift up to Dorian’s hair and curled his fingers through the dark curls. “It’s alright, I wasn’t there for you and I can’t begrudge you. Is Fenris at least good in bed?” he asked softly. 

“Yes... well, when he doesn’t get overexcited and forget he’s a dragon,” said Dorian slowly. “Though apparently Anders was quite enamoured of being knotted. I was more concerned with avoiding tearing. But that aside? Maker, yes. That first night, I was fucked so thoroughly that I forgot myself; it was like being nailed by you. And then he went off to see Zevran, as I understand it.” Dorian sighed. “Though... after the coup... he seemed not to want to touch me, and... things were quite unpleasant for a while. And later I think he found it simpler to indulge his desires with Anders, who would let him use his mouth as much as Fenris wanted.”

“You should talk if you haven’t already,” Leto said as he held Dorian and thought about what he’d been told. “I’m going to beat him if he’s used Anders like a body slave,” he added quietly. 

Dorian arched his eyebrows at Leto. “ _Amatus_ , please tell me in what way you _didn’t_ treat Zevran like a body slave?” he said coolly. “Though Dumat knows, he was allowing half of his agents to treat him as one as well, so it’s no wonder really.”

“I’m sorry - what did you say? His agents did _what_ to him?” Leto asked angrily. “He’s not a whore.” 

Dorian regarded him a little warily at the sudden flash of anger. “I... thought you knew?” he said, quieter.

“No...I … never knew,” Leto replied as he calmed himself. “When we can get Zevran out of the cell, we should talk. For now, please come with me to see Anders, he’s been alone for a while and...I need to find clothes for him.” 

“I have his clothes here,” said Dorian as he turned and reached for one of the bags on the bed. “I managed to grab some of his stuff from the former Inquisitor’s quarters before we rode out. He’ll need them.” He slung the bag over his shoulder. “And I don’t know when we will be able to see Zevran - as I told you, all I know is that he’s been taken for interrogation and -” Dorian halted as he pressed a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes. For a moment all he could see was that dark dungeon cell, the table, and the horrendous hallucination he had suffered there. “Zevran. We have to get him out of there,” he gasped, trying to fight back a sudden surge of fear for the Antivan.

“Alright, let’s see to that after we see Anders,” Leto said quietly, he was disturbed by their talk and wondered just how much Dorian still cared for him after all they’d been through. 

Dorian nodded, and followed Leto from the guest room. He was silent the entire way as they returned to Leto’s rooms; as they drew closer, they could hear someone humming quietly. As Leto opened the door and Dorian entered, it was to find Anders, curled up on Leto’s bed wearing only a towel, his damp hair strewn across the pillows, half-asleep and humming to himself.

“Poor bugger, probably hasn’t had a decent bath or meal since you all took over,” Leto said as he took a seat, and nodded to Dorian. “He might not want to see me looming over him if he’s half awake.”

Dorian let the bag of clothes drop to the floor, then approached the bed slowly. “Anders?” he called gently. “It’s Dorian. I’ve brought your things.”

The humming stopped, and then Anders slowly rolled over to face him. “Dorian?” he said drowsily. “Where’s that music coming from?” 

“What music?” Leto asked as he watched them, then nearly jumped when the door opened to let a servant in with a tray for them. 

“Apologies ser, it’s a bit chaotic today,” the young man said with a bow and hurried off to another errand.

Dorian had sat down on the edge of the bed to stare down at Anders; he brushed stray strands of hair out of the blond mage’s eyes. He froze, then leaned closer before taking hold of Anders’ chin. Anders didn’t resist as Dorian tilted his face more towards the light, the mage smiling at him in sleepy bemusement.

“Leto,” said Dorian, his voice sounding strangled. “Look at his face.”

As Leto drew closer, he could immediately see what had the magister alarmed.

The skin beneath Anders’ eyes was dark, like bruises, and faint grey tendrils of corruption were winding their way faintly through the pale skin.

Dorian glanced up at Leto. 

“What does this mean?” the magister whispered.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran revels in his newly-healed leg, and Fenris thinks of a way to heal his Anders' heart.

Zevran was in the Fade. Either that or he was dead. Certainly there was no other way to account for the complete lack of pain beyond a lingering feeling of tenderness in his abdomen.

He was lying on his back in a bed, and the bed was warm, soft, and smelled of clean linen and something familiar he couldn’t quite identify... hmm, that was elfroot, yes, and crystal grace too, but also a touch of lyrium and - ah, that was it! Anders. It smelled of Anders. But of course, he was in the Fade or dead, so of course he would think of the scent of his heart.

He appeared to be naked, which also felt quite right and natural - in the Fade or out of it. But mostly he was revelling in this unfamiliar feeling of wellness. Not even in his crippled leg or down his back could he feel pain - not the slightest twinge.

Well, if this were the Fade, then he must be dreaming - but he was quite certain he wouldn’t dream of worried voices; after all, he was well and healthy! So why should he dream of worried voices? And, well, if he were dead then he should have nothing more to worry about.

He opened his eyes, stared at the underside of the canopy of Anders’ bed, and realised he was neither dead nor dreaming - and that the voices he could hear were Fenris, Anders and Invictus.

Fenris was sitting with an arm around Invictus while Anders sat close to him, none of them willing to part even for a few moments. He had his head on his husband’s shoulder as he listened to all that had happened. He hoped Pin and Callus arrived soon, he’d missed his children. 

“... and Carver and Rowan said they’d never encountered anything like it before,” said Anders quietly. “I have no memory of any of this - the last thing I remember is touching Zevran’s bed and getting that sickening flash of - of _something_. It was Zevran screaming, but somehow... _not_ him. Something that had happened between Leto and _his_ Zevran, we think. I don’t really remember anything after that, though apparently I went haring off down to some dungeon I never even knew existed under the Rookery, Ellowynne and Zevran apparently popped out of a portal, something happened to Zevran and I that no-one will talk to me about and now the whole Rookery is closed off and Parcival and Carver have arranged for guards there whilst he waits for word from the Divine Herself.”

“That’s … disturbing. They probably need the same done in Leto’s world to be honest. Though the Inquisition still runs there. Sort of, because I...became the Inquisitor after we got Vengeance out of Anders, but it was as Leto, not me,” Fenris replied quietly. He had gone to pieces as Anders held him and he was content to sit with them until Zevran woke and his children came. 

“Something certainly seems to have been shredding the Veil,” said Anders as he glanced down at the floor with a frown. “Rowan says that it was Ellowynne who showed everyone a vision - something that seems to have happened in Leto’s world, and somehow the echoes have been bleeding over into ours. Something to do with blood magic being performed, and Leto’s Zevran was compelled to make the sacrifices that allowed Vengeance to try to shred the Veil. I still don’t understand how it could affect our Thedas though - our Zevran hasn’t done anything like that, though I think he was dreaming of the things the _other_ Zevran was doing, which was distressing him.”

“Speaking of Zev, when should he wake up? I’m worried he’s been out so long,” Vic said before pressing a kiss to Fenris’ hair. “Should one of us check on him?” 

Zevran sat up as silently as he could (and to his delight, his body seemed to respond perfectly...) and turned to face them through the thin light curtains, sitting crosslegged - something he had not been able to do in more than a year. He rested an elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his hand, grinning as he waited for one of them to turn and see him.

“I’ll go, I’d like to see him when he wakes,” Fenris said as he pulled himself free, and pulled the curtain back to see his love. “ _Carissimi_?” he asked as he approached the slighter elf. “It worked then?”

“I am not sure what you mean, _carissimi_ , but I feel fantastic,” grinned Zevran. “I thought I must be dead or in the Fade, for surely I could not feel this well and not be dreaming? But see - I am awake, and it is not a dream, and I cannot understand it.” He straightened and tilted his head to one side. “ _Carissimi_ , what happened there at Adamant? I thought - nay, I _knew_ I was a dead man. That was a killing blow, no? I knew even as I fell. And then my eyes closed and I thought, ‘Zevran, this is where you find out whether the Maker is real, eh?’ Imagine my surprise to awaken - and to find I am whole, healed, and it is as though I were a young man again, before ever I left my beloved Antiva!”

He glanced over to Anders with a bright smile. “ _Mi cuore_ , you have worked many miracles in your time but this? if I did not love you already then I would fall at your feet for love for giving me -”

“It wasn’t me, Zevran,” said Anders quietly, his expression serious.

“What? Hah, my heart, you are teasing - I know Ellowynne could not -”

“Zevran, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t Ellowynne. It wasn’t either of us, or any other healer from Skyhold. You were healed at Adamant.” Anders’ eyes flicked to Fenris then back. Zevran glanced to Fenris, his smile now uncertain.

“ _Carissimi_? Who is this mysterious healer to whom, it seems, I owe my life?” he asked quietly.

“Hi,” Fenris replied before lifting his hand and letting ice form in his palm. “Guess who has magic?”

Zevran lurched back away from Fenris, unnerved and surprised. “What - what is this? ...Leto? What trickery are you trying to pull on me?!”

“I’m not Leto, I’m your Fenris, your _carissimi_! Don’t do this, not after all …” Fenris choked back a sob and stepped back. “It’s me, it’s really me!” 

Zevran was staring at him with wide eyes, speechless. Anders rose and approached the bed. 

“Love... Fenris... Zevran was comatose when he was brought back. He had no idea it was you who had opened the portal with Ellowynne; all he knows is that Ellowynne opened it, reached through to _someone_ , and then he was being attacked by a Crow and fighting for his life. We knew Leto is a mage. We had no way of knowing _you_ are until Ellowynne opened another portal directly back here in this room and basically screamed. This... is the first Zevran has had the chance to find out, and he’s only just woken up after being certain he never would again.” The blond mage sat on the bed and held one hand out to Fenris, the other to Zevran.

Zevran took Anders’ hand and allowed himself to be drawn close to Fenris. “It... it is true? You saved my life?” he whispered. “But... how? And how is it that you are so much greater a healer than _mi cuore_?”

Anders made a faint sound of annoyance. “He _isn’t_ ,” he said, though the look he gave Fenris was a fond one. “He simply has a very good memory - and had a chance to practice his fledgling healing skills on a Zevran who hadn’t been crippled or scarred as much as you have, love.”

Zevran gazed at Fenris. “Forgive me, _carissimi_ ,” he whispered. “I did not know.”

Fenris had glanced up at Anders sounding annoyed but let his hand be held. “It’s ok,” he said quietly. “I’m just glad I could help, though I’m not a good healer.”

“Then I am glad you have such a good memory and that you knew a healthier version of me,” shrugged Zevran. “Which in itself is a miracle, no? That you should already -” He broke off and blinked.

“Yes, Zevran,” said Anders, realising what had just belatedly occurred to the Antivan. “The Zevran that Fenris got to practice healing on before you is the same Zevran who... stabbed you.”

Zevran frowned slightly and looked down at the bed covers, then looked up with a philosophical shrug. “Ah well, I am certain it was not personal. After all, if I were confronted with a strange Crow then I, too, would likely attack without hesitation. It is only a sensible precaution when faced with Antivan assassins, after all. Where is he?”

“He’s being interrogated,” said Invictus uncomfortably as he drew closer. He’d been letting the other two handle explanations to the bemused Antivan, but now he came and sat on the edge of the bed next to Fenris, resting a hand comfortably against the small of the elf’s back. “Good to see you back with us, love. And looking better than you have since you keeled over in my house back in Kirkwall.”

Zevran frowned slightly. “Interrogated?” he echoed.

“He surrendered himself the moment the guards showed up,” said Anders with a frown. “He confessed to having stabbed you and told them he had further confessions to make. The Dorian who came with them was quite upset about it but had his arms full of the mirror version of me, who’d passed out after helping Fen make the teleport leap. Even _I_ never tried to help him take three other people and four horses at once, and I’ve taken some stupid risks with my mana on occasion. Anyway, by the time we got their Anders revived and in a chair, their Zevran had been dragged off in chains and their Dorian had gone haring off after them, protesting. No idea where either of them has got to now, but Leto took his Anders off somewhere with him - haven’t heard anything from either of them either.” 

“Where is the Imp now?” asked Zevran after a moment. “Is she well?”

Anders shrugged. “As well as she can be after disappearing off behind my back to talk to Varania then dragging you off to Adamant and opening up a portal to another Thedas,” he said acerbically. “She got back here, and promptly collapsed with a nosebleed and a headache. She’s now sleeping it off and has learned a salutary lesson in not overstretching her capabilities - or letting others know what you’re up to.”

“Ah, she did not drag me, _mi cuore_ ,” said Zevran with a slightly guilty expression. “I may have guessed what she was about and, hmm, followed her to Adamant, no? And it was too close to when the others would be ready for the portal, and so she could not send me back.”

“Do I have to yell Zevran?” Fenris asked as he held the other elf’s hand for a moment then pulled him into his arms. “Damn, I missed you, _carissimi_.”

Anders sighed in exasperation. “Fine, I’ll ground the pair of you, Zevran - you _and_ your stepdaughter; then you can both reflect at leisure on the advisability of acting on impulse, hmm?”

Zevran had allowed himself to tumble quite cheerfully and gracefully into Fenris’ arms and was looking up at him with an unrepentant grin as he lay in Fenris’ lap. “I regret nothing!” he replied.

“I’m just glad you’re here, I thought my heart was going to shatter when I saw you go down,” Fenris admitted as he nuzzled at Zevran’s shoulder and neck playfully. “Missed all of you so much.” 

Zevran tilted his head with a coy smile, baring more of his throat and shoulder to Fenris. “Hmm, how much?” he murmured teasingly.

“Once I’ve had a proper meal, and you have too, I’m going to nail you to the bed,” Fenris growled in his ear. 

“Ahem, what about us love?” Vic said with a leer at them.

“Oh you’ll get yours Vicky, don’t worry about that,” Fenris said as he bit Zevran gently, careful not to let his fangs out. 

Zevran closed his eyes and smiled. “Ah, _carissimi_ , has your time away blunted your teeth? I am sure I remember them being sharper, no?”

“Zevran -” began Anders warningly then broke off as Fenris obligingly bit Zevran far harder and the Antivan arched into Fenris with a low, animalistic groan.

“I was trying not to go too far,” Fenris replied as he kissed the spot he’d just bitten before he sat back and kept Zevran in his lap so he could kiss him slow and easy. He glanced over the elf’s shoulder to see Anders and Vic staring at them. “I think we should eat soon and get reacquainted.” 

“Well you’re in a mood all of sudden, I take it you didn’t do anything the whole time you were gone, love?” Vic said as he headed out to request a tray and drinks. 

The larger elf kept quiet about his activities while gone, sure it would spark a fight soon after he had been returned. “No love, I was pretty lonely,” Fenris replied as he thought how easily the lie came to him and hated himself as he kept his attention on Zevran. 

“ _Carissimi_ , if you are about to tell me that my mirror-self is a far more fantastic lover than I am, then I do not think I will be able to accept that,” smirked Zevran. 

Anders was staring at Fenris; he leaned forward to touch Zevran’s shoulder. “Love....” he said softly.

“What? I was joking, I know that my _carissimi_ would not -” Zevran glanced back from Anders to Fenris once more, and his voice died as he stared at Fenris. His smile wavered. “ _Carissimi_? .... Fenris? Did you sleep with the other Zevran?” he asked, quieter as he sat up, his expression becoming more serious.

“No, I didn’t, love,” Fenris said quietly. “But I did… have a tumble with Dorian there. He was already with Leto and...I’m allowed to sleep with Dorian here. Forgive me?”

Zevran blinked, then shrugged. “I can see how such a thing would happen,” he replied before glancing to Vic and Anders.

Anders looked troubled. “You... well. Zevran’s right, and I can see how... how you might find yourself getting more involved than you’d expected,” he said slowly. “And didn’t you say you basically had to act as though you actually _were_ Leto? So... it would probably have seemed strange and given you away if you hadn’t shared a bed.”

Zevran sat up straighter in Fenris’ lap. “And I, too, must confess,” he added, his expression more serious as he lowered his gaze. “I had intercourse with your double. We... shared a bed for a while, though we did not have sex there. But... yes, I too have strayed, though both Invictus and Anders gave their blessing. Leto was a very lonely man in a world not his own, and I thought to provide a distraction.” He glanced up at Fenris from behind his blond eyelashes. “Are you.. angry with me, _carissimi_?”

“How can I be, when I have strayed in the past, love? I hope he was good in bed, at least,” Fenris quipped as he rested his hands on Zevran’s hips as he waited. 

Zevran lifted his eyes. “He had not been wooed or treated with gentleness since his Hawke died; I thought perhaps I should be gentle - a little light seduction - and he did not know how to respond. But once we began, he was very energetic.”

“Energetic enough that you were limping the following day, Zevran,” remarked Anders, but he had a faint smile on his face now. “I would almost have felt jealous if I hadn’t had my mind on other things - like persuading Meneris to delay our departure for three days. Didn’t know I was going to be providing that reason,” he added with a grimace.

“I’m so sorry love, I’m glad you’re still with us. It would have… I can’t even think about that,” Fenris said before he felt Zevran lean forward in his lap, kissing his neck and hugging him. “Trying to distract me _carissimi_?” he asked quietly.

“And it is working, no?” smiled the Antivan. “How can you be unhappy when I am naked in your lap and kissing you?” He leaned up and claimed Fenris’ lips with a kiss.

“You’ve got me there,” Fenris said as he leaned in for more kisses. He even laid back so he could enjoy the feel of Zevran over him, cup the back of his head and make up for time lost. 

Anders cleared his throat. “Uh... don’t mind us....” He glanced to Vic, his cheeks turning a little pink.

“You can join in you know. I’ve missed all of you,” Fenris said between nips and kisses for his Antivan spouse. “Especially missed you taking turns with taking me, you and Zev riding me, and how much you love to get choked on my cock.” 

Anders stared at him, his eyes flicking up to Invictus then back to Fenris. “And I know you love to choke me with your cock,” he said quietly. “And... yes. I... I want that. Would you do that?”

Zevran sat up and looked at him, concern in his eyes. “ _Mi cuore_? Are you sure that would be wise?”

Anders had his hand on the collar of his tunic but he halted as he stared at Zevran. He swallowed, then dropped his gaze, slumping slightly. “You’re right,” he confessed. “I can’t even climb the stairs of the tower without almost passing out. I... I can’t.” His eyes went to Fenris. “I’m sorry, love,” he added softly. “I wish I could. But I’ll be content to watch you all; it’s enough to be near you.”

“ _Mi cuore_ , let my mouth serve as yours,” said Zevran quietly. “I will take it in your stead. Whatever Fenris would have done to you, let it be done to me instead.”

Anders regarded him thoughtfully, then nodded. “Alright, Zevran.” He glanced up at Fenris. “If... you’re alright with this, love?”

“Of course but I look forward to giving you what you want love,” Fenris said as he watched Anders take a seat and settle in. The warrior turned and gave Zevran a coy smile before he offered up his own hands for the rope. “I think I ought to pay for straying, yes _carissimi_?” 

“Actually,” said Anders quietly from his chair beside the bed, “I’d been really hoping that you would tie me up - so, seeing as I can’t join in myself... I’d really like to see one of you tie Zevran up.” He glanced to Zevran. “If you’re alright with that?”

“I consent to being treated as though I were you, _mi cuore_ ,” smiled Zevran. “If you wish to be tied up? Then I shall allow myself to be tied up. Though, we could tie you in that chair if you wished to feel you were still taking part?”

Anders sat up a little straighter, his breath coming a little faster, and Zevran chuckled. “ _Mi cuore_... Zevran knows it is the feel of being restrained that you love almost as much as being used, is it not?” He turned to Fenris and kissed him on the cheek. “One moment, _carissimi_.”

He slipped from the bed to fetch rope; Anders was stripping out of his tunic and shirt. Zevran returned with several lengths of rope; throwing several lengths onto the bed, he moved behind Anders and swiftly tied his wrists together before binding them to the back of the chair before moving around to the front and bending to remove Anders’ boots. He bound Anders’ ankles to the feet of the chair then leaned forward to kiss him, one hand fondling Anders’ groin as the blond mage groaned before drawing away.

Anders glared at him with darkened eyes. “Zevran....” he growled. “Right. Vic, tie Zevran’s hands behind his back and blindfold him. I think after that he should have no chance of knowing whose cock is in his mouth.”

Vic complied, making sure the knots weren’t too tight and that he was at their mercy. After double checking they were fine, he got a belt from one of his black robes and covered the elf’s eyes, tugging a little rougher than need be before he forced Zevran to his knees on the bed. 

“So... for this evening, between the three of us, Zevran is me. If I say I want something, do it to him,” said Anders. “Agreed, Zevran?”

The elf had cocked his head a little to one side to listen, and he nodded. “ _Si, mi cuore_ ,” he agreed.

“So. Fenris, I think I deserve to be treated nice and rough tonight. Why don’t you take a good hold of my hair, yank it around, and fuck that insolent mouth of mine? I’ve been very mouthy of late, after all. And Vic, maybe you’d like to finger that pert little ass of mine? Fuck knows it needs a workout.” Anders grinned.

“Yes s--” Fenris caught himself before he could slip and use that word. Instead he grinned and did as he was told, though he really wanted to be in Zevran’s place. 

“I’ll do more than that you cheeky bastard,” Vic said as he called up slick and slipped two fingers into Zevran, slowly pumping them in and out as directed.

“That sounds like you had something in mind, Vic,” purred Anders. He flexed his wrists against the ropes, idly enjoying the sensation. “What were you planning to do to this sinfully cheeky body of mine? Perhaps you wanted to fuck me for a while, then leave me wanting?”

Zevran gave a faint moan, the sound muffled by Fenris’ cock. Anders smirked. “Fenris, I think you need to see if you can fit your cock right down my throat, because I managed a little moan just then... I can’t be doing a very good job if I can still make sounds, can I? I must work harder. Maybe Vic should spank me to keep my mind focused....”

Vic raised a brow at that but didn’t argue, instead he slapped the Antivan’s ass hard as he could, alternating with each twist of his fingers before adding a third. Meanwhile, Fenris had tightened his grip and was fucking the slighter elf’s mouth fast and deep, enjoying it while slightly envious of him.

Zevran twitched and tried to cry out, then moaned, the sound stifled by Fenris’ cock down his throat - but Anders unexpectedly gave a low moan. As Vic’s head whipped around, startled, he saw Anders gazing straight at him, the blond mage’s eyes dark, the amber now mere rings of dark gold around his pupils. He slapped Zevran’s arse hard again, and as the Antivan twitched - unable to do much more as he was held fast between the two men - Anders gave another low moan.

Vic found it incredibly arousing; each time he slapped Zevran, his hand leaving prints on the golden skin, Anders gave a hedonistic moan - as though _he_ were the one being spanked. 

“Fuck me, Vic,” panted Anders, and Vic slid his cock into Zevran and began thrusting. 

Anders glanced to Fenris. “Maker, love, you look so good fucking my mouth like that,” he moaned. “Tell me how my mouth feels....”

Zevran moaned, the sound drowned out by the slap of flesh on flesh as Vic steadily fucked him from behind and Fenris fucked his mouth.

“You feel good....” growled Fenris. “Your mouth is so hot and wet.”

“Fuck my throat, Fen,” breathed Anders as he gazed at the elf. “I want to choke on your cock....”

Fenris found he couldn’t restrain the growl that escaped his lips, his gaze drawn to Anders’ mouth; he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to fuck that mouth. He grasped Zevran’s hair tighter and thrust his cock down the Antivan’s throat.

Zevran could barely breath between each thrust of Fenris’ cock, and barely think as Vic pounded into him at the other end hard and fast. He could tell what effect Anders’ moans were having on both men; they were having a considerable effect on he, himself.

And then he heard Anders breathlessly telling Vic that he didn’t deserve his cock and that Vic should lavish that attention on Fenris instead, and the Antivan’s eyes snapped open behind the blindfold. No, wait - that wasn’t fair, he was so close!

But he could wait; he could bide his time. Fenris was bound to still be hard even after he had come down Zevran’s throat, after all....

Then Fenris had pulled his cock from Zevran’s mouth long enough to move the Antivan back up the bed. Zevran found himself laid on his back, his head propped up on the pillows as Fenris straddled his chest and guided his cock towards Zevran’s mouth again. Fenris sank down into him, his cock thrusting down into Zevran’s throat - and then the taller elf stayed there as Vic started to slowly work him open.

Anders lay back in the chair and stared at the ceiling, listening to Fenris’ soft, panting moans as Vic steadily worked him open, stroking him inside with two, then three, then four fingers as Zevran worked Fenris’ cock with firm strokes of his tongue and swallowed around him. Anders was having to take slow, steady breaths himself; he had been starting to get into things just a little too much and he had felt his heart start to race. But it was intoxicating seeing the effects of his orders and his moans on all three men. Zevran’s cock still stood up stiff and hard between the Antivan’s legs, but Anders managed a breathless smile as he allowed himself to look at the three men again. He didn’t think it would be long before Fenris came down Zevran’s throat, at this rate.

As Vic slid slowly into Fenris, sheathing his cock fully in the elf’s body, Fenris began fucking Zevran’s mouth again; as Vic sped up slowly, so did Fenris until the elf was thrusting hard and fast down the Antivan’s throat with Zevran barely able to breathe.

“Oh Fenris.... yes, yes, _yes_....” moaned Anders. “That’s it... come down my throat, love, fucking _drown_ me in your spend....”

Fenris came with a loud, shuddering cry, and Zevran jerked as his throat and mouth were full of Fenris’ spend as he choked. Slowly the taller elf pulled out, and Zevran gasped for breath, coughing and choking. Fenris’ spend was smeared down his chin, pooling with his spit in the hollow of his throat as he gasped.

“Oh Fenris,” groaned Anders. “That was so good. So, so good. Fenris... please suck my cock now....”

Fenris was panting, but with Vic’s help he moved back down the bed.

“With pleasure... _carissimi_ ,” smiled Fenris before he swallowed down Zevran’s cock.

Anders was silent as Zevran groaned and shivered beneath Fenris’ ministrations. Instead he watched, flexing his wrists against the ropes, and he smiled slightly at the sounds now coming from both Zevran and Fenris as Fenris’ head bobbed faster and Vic found a new angle to thrust better into Fenris. 

“Sweet Maker... I wish you could all see this,” he said softly. “Such a beautiful sight. Fenris, when you finally make me come, I want Vic to tie your wrists to the bedposts and blindfold you, and then I want to ride your cock....”

Zevran groaned louder at Anders’ words, then shuddered; he was very close now.

The taller elf moaned around Zevran’s cock, happy to hear someone was finally going to tie him down. He bobbed faster, each thrust from Invictus making him lurch forward a little. He wanted to get spanked while Vic took him but he didn’t want to lose how good Zevran’s cock felt in his mouth either. 

“I wish you could feel how tight Fen is love...Maker, he’s going to make me come soon,” Vic panted.

Zevran’s moans were now panted cries, coming higher and faster the close he came, though Fenris could feel that the elf were holding back.

“Fenris, I’m going to come,” Anders moaned behind him; and with that permission, Zevran came with a loud cry, throwing his head back as the orgasm rolled through him. His spend filled Fenris’ mouth, hitting the back of his throat, hot and salty.

Fenris swallowed as much as he could but a bit still slid down his chin as Vic took him harder and faster. “Vicky...spank me,” he gasped after a hard thrust almost put him off balance.

“Vicky…? You that far gone, love?” Invictus asked before he raised his hand, but turned back to Anders for permission.

Anders was watching, straightening up in his seat as much as he could with his wrists bound behind him. “Fen? Fenris?”

The elf turned his head at the call of his name, licking his lips to get the rest of Zevran’s come off his face. “Yes...maestro?” he replied quietly. 

Anders’ expression changed and he leaned forward, ignoring the strain the ropes were putting on his wrists. “Fenris, do you need to submit? I want to hear your consent for this.”

The elf stared at his husband for a moment then nodded, before realizing what Anders had said. “Yes...love, you have my consent,” Fenris said as he fought the urge to buck backward onto Vic’s cock since he’d held still waiting for him. 

“Alright,” said Anders as he sat back then nodded to Invictus. “Give him what he needs, Vic.”

“Thank you,” he said before he felt the first slap to his ass and he moaned Vic’s name with each blow before his husband started moving again, slow and easy since Fenris was in that place. He gave him a few more hard slaps across his ass as he slowly fucked him.

“Anders...I can take over if you like love. Enjoy the show and let me top our wayward elf,” Vic said as he raked his nails down Fenris’ back, getting a low growl from him.

Anders sat back, and gave Vic a grateful look. “Thanks, love,” he said.

Zevran had managed to shimmy himself up the bed and into a sitting position; he had bowed his head and appeared to be doing something behind his back. He smiled and gave a sudden jerk of his shoulders, then brought his hands round in front of himself, shaking off the coils of rope before reaching up to undo the blindfold. He blinked at Fenris and Invictus as he leaned back against the headboard and lifted a hand to slowly trail it through Fenris’ spend as it ran slowly down his chest. As Fenris glanced up, the Antivan lifted his dripping fingers to his lips and licked them clean. 

Fenris whimpered as he felt Vic dragging his nails down his back again as he was fucked hard, deep and slow. He wanted to lose himself and he was so close, a few more smacks and tugging his hair might send him over.

“You’ve been very bad Fenris, sleeping with that other Dorian. And now, getting so submissive on us,” growled Vic. He slapped the elf’s ass hard, gratified to hear a low groan after he’d slapped hard enough to leave a mark. “I think Zevran needs to tease you a bit, make you consider your choices, know who you belong to.” Vic winked at him as he slowed down his thrusts, but kept giving Fenris little smacks to keep him on edge.

“Yes… Vic… Yes,” Fenris whined as he felt his claws extend and he dropped his face to the comforter. “More...ser,” he panted.

“Maybe I should go look for that other me?” purred Zevran. “After all, I am a very good-looking man, no? So, two of me, should be twice the pleasure! And I have always wanted to know what my fabulous arse looks like. I wonder how it looks with a good cock up it? Would you like to see that, Fenris?”

“If ...you…” He panted as Vic gave him a particularly hard slap across his reddened cheeks. “Fuck!” Fenris yelled, as he jerked under his husband’s hand. “What..ever you want...maestro,” he moaned. 

“Much as I’d love to see that, he’s still locked up, love. Maybe you should get under Fenris and see if he can get you back up and then if he’s really good we’ll both take him,” Vic said before he grabbed a handful of the elf’s hair and tugged hard. “Or I’ll just keep him on edge like this until he proves he should get to come while you tease him.” 

“I think I shall untie _mi cuore_ before I do anything else,” mused Zevran. “It has been quite some time since last he felt rope, after all - and that last time was not so good, hmm?” He grinned at Fenris then leaned forward and wrapped the long white hair around his fist, yanking hard so the elf was forced to stare up at him. “As for you? Do not be so much of a brat. I think I shall look forward to seeing you tied and blindfolded, and using your cock - but if you dare come before I can again then I think that after your children have visited? I shall tie you to the bedposts and you will be forced to watch whilst I let Vic take me however he wishes, and Anders kisses us both!” He gave his hair another hard pull, then let it go with a laugh.

He rose from the bed and picked up Fenris’ shirt, casually wiping the rest of Fenris’ spend from his face and chest before dropping it to the floor. He moved around behind Anders and checked the mage’s wrists before swearing softly to himself. He turned and looked around for his gear and picked out a knife, then returned to start cutting Anders’ bonds. The mage glanced back over his shoulder but said nothing.

“You ok there love?” Vic asked as he slowed just a bit as he watched them. He felt Fenris arch back against him when he’d stopped. “No, hold still,” Vic said as he tugged the elf’s hair. “Be good Fen, or I’ll leave you empty.” 

“Yes...Vic...I’ll be good,” Fenris moaned as he forced himself to stay still and not try to rear back to get Vic to resume fucking him. 

“Anders?” Vic asked again, worried for their love. 

“Sorry, just... thinking too much,” said Anders quietly. “It was Zevran who tied me up last time too, and... sorry, I....”

Zevran was kneeling between Anders’ feet, cutting his ankles free, but he paused to lift himself and kiss Anders gently. “You always think too much, _mi cuore_ ,” he scolded. “Now, hold still, and I will soon have you free.” 

He sliced through the last rope then threw the ends aside. He turned and bent over to murmur briefly in Vic’s ear, and then they gave each other a slight smile before Vic turned back to Fenris and Zevran to Anders.

Vic grinned as he resumed fucking Fenris, one hand in the elf’s hair keeping him from dropping to the bed in surrender. “You’re being so good for us love,” he said before letting Fenris’ hair go and speeding up so he could finally come, and let Zev tie him up.

Fenris was surprised at the change of pace, but he wasn’t complaining. Soon he was calling for Vic to do anything to him, begging to come until he was sobbing as Vic finally came, filling him, as he slowed and gave a few more thrusts before pulling free and letting the elf lie there, still aching. 

“Zevran is going to tie you, and we’re going to use you. Though you will like that, won’t you?” Vic asked as he twisted Fenris’ head so he had to look at his husband. 

“Anything you want Vic...anything,” he replied quietly, staring into the other man’s hazel-green eyes, utterly at their disposal. 

“As _mi cuore_ said, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran. “We will blindfold you, tie you, and then I will be him once more. And as him, I will ride you, and I will take my pleasure of you and I shall come - but you will not be allowed to touch me, for your hands will be tied. I might have Anders and Vic both on the bed too for this one, eh? And as I have told you before,” he added as he picked up the blindfold and moved around Fenris to bind it around his eyes, “I can fuck and be fucked without making a single sound. So... I shall be silent, and _mi cuore_ can give me his voice, hmm?” He looked across at Invictus as the two of them started tying Fenris’ wrists to the bedposts, and he gave him a wink. He glanced back to Anders and gave him a grin.

“Oh - yes, I can do that,” Anders nodded. 

Zevran finished tying off his piece of rope then glanced to Vic, who had finished tying Fenris’ other wrist to that bedpost, and they both grinned as Anders rose from the chair and climbed on the bed on the opposite side to Vic, settling himself comfortably against the pillows. 

“So, I warned you, Fenris. You were a bit of a brat, weren’t you?” said Zevran. “And now I will ride you as _mi cuore_ , and you cannot even touch me - not even hear me until after I have come!”

“I’m sorry...I’ll be good, please let me touch you.” Fenris pleaded as he felt someone slicking up his cock. He wanted to see what was going on but he knew he’d earned it. “Please _carissimi_ ” he begged. 

“I think not,” said Anders. “You haven’t been good enough yet. Maybe if you’re very good and I come hard enough, then I’ll let Vic untie your hands and you can touch me until you’ve come. But the blindfold stays on. For now? No more begging, or we’ll gag you.”

Fenris bit his lip as he tried to flex against the restraints. “I’m a good boy though, I haven’t touched you in so long!” he asked, and got a hard slap for his trouble.

“Didn’t he tell you not to beg again? That’s not being a very good boy, Fenris,” Vic said as he rubbed his hand to take the sting out. 

“So, what’s it to be, Fenris? will you be good, or are we going to have to gag you?” Anders asked.

Fenris growled under his breath, his face stung from whoever had slapped him but he knew if he kept pushing they would probably leave him on the bed while they enjoyed each other. He tilted his head slightly as he felt the bed dipping. “I’ll be a good boy, I’ll be better if you slap me again...” he stopped himself from calling Anders ser, but he wanted to show his submission. “I’m yours, love.”

“Cheeky,” murmured Anders. Before he had a chance to say anything more however, Zevran was already lifting a leg to straddle Fenris’ hips. Zevran guided Fenris’ cock to his entrance then lowered himself onto it, and he couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped his lips. 

“Oh Fenris,” Anders groaned, and settled back to amuse himself.

**

When Pin and Callus showed up that evening, Anders was contentedly dozing on the bed, half-curled up as he reclined on the pillows. Zevran was just wandering back in from the bathing chamber, his hair dripping damply down his back, his modesty preserved by a towel - throwing a wink in Pin’s direction as she blushed - and Fenris was opening a bottle of wine.

Pin only allowed herself to be distracted momentarily by Zevran before throwing herself at her father to hug him - Vic rescuing the wine adroitly with a tolerant grin as he stepped out of the way.

“Papa!” she exclaimed delightedly. “Oh, Papa! She did it! Wynne really did it!”

“My little girl,” Fenris said as she hugged him close. “I missed you so much.” He took a seat so she wasn’t squeezing him so hard around the middle. “Wynne showed me how to open a portal and it was close but … I’m back.” 

Callus watched them, a little bemused at how happy Pin was versus how she’d been when they had arrived at Skyhold at first. He watched as Fenris held her, and noticed his father’s shoulders shaking slightly as they held each other. “Papa?” 

Pin pulled back a little; her own eyes were swimming with tears, though she was smiling until she looked up into her father’s face. “Papa - what’s wrong? You’re home, you’re safe, everything will be alright now!”

Fenris gave her a smile before he wiped her tears away. “Sorry, the other you still hated Leto and thus me. It hurt, and...I was starting to think I’d never get home, so I’m a little emotional Pin.” 

“I... heard what happened to the other me, Papa; Leto acted like he’d seen a ghost,” Callus said as he approached his father for a hug as well. 

“Yeah, Dorian there told me what happened and it was.hard to hear. So glad I’m home with you, safe and alive,” the elf added before he pulled his son in for a hug.

Pin glanced over at Anders. “Oh! Master Anders is sleeping? Is he alright?”

“He is fine,” smiled Zevran as he strode over to the bed and sat on the edge, next to Anders, reaching over to gently stroke a stray lock of dark gold hair out of the sleeping mage’s eyes. “It has been a long day, is all. He is only napping; he will awaken soon.”

“But... then....” She looked back at Fenris and frowned slightly. “Papa? If Master Anders has been asleep, why can I feel magic in you? Healing magic - the same healing magic I can still feel working through Uncle Zev-” She broke off, and her eyes widened. “Father. Uncle Zevran isn’t limping. The magic... that’s _you??_ ”

“It’s me.” Fenris held his hand up and let flame come to his palm. “Guess where you got some of your magic from?” he said quietly. 

“Papa!” she exclaimed, surprise, confusion and, slowly dawning also, delight in her eyes and voice.

“And fairly strong magic, too,” remarked Zevran. He’d turned away to spare Pin her blushes as he pulled on his leather pants, but now he turned back and grinned. He glanced at Callus, then strode slowly over towards the youth. “So, my once-apprentice. You have only really seen me as I have been in Skyhold. You have never really seen the true abilities of a Crow Master, yes?”

Callus raised an eyebrow. “Why do I have the feeling I just became an apprentice again?” he said. 

Zevran merely grinned. He plucked one of Callus’ blades from his belt, placed it between his teeth as he turned, and sprang up onto a nearby chair. From thence without stopping, he leapt onto the chest of drawers at the side of the room, then backflipped up to the top rail of the four-poster bed where Anders still slept, and then launched himself up to catch one of the vaulting rafters with one hand as he plucked the knife from his teeth. He tossed it up in the air then somersaulted back down to the floor to catch the blade again before offering it to Callus.

“Dumat… I don’t think I could have pulled that off myself,” Callus said in awe before taking the knife. “If … you’ll have me when I can visit again, I’d like to learn again, Master,” Cal said respectfully. 

Zevran smiled and executed a bow. “It would be my pleasure, my apprentice. Though I think I may be able to teach you far more here, where the very walls and towers of Skyhold will also be your teachers! Be that as it may, I shall teach you as much as I can here before we return home, eh?”

“I’ll be glad to learn as much as I can from you, ser,” Callus returned his grin, happy to see the older elf restored. “I’m glad Papa was able to give you back your health.”

“So am I,” said Anders sleepily as he glanced around. “Hello Cal, Pin.” He sat up and stretched, then glanced to Zevran with a fond look. “Mostly it seems to have been possible through something that happened back during the war against Corypheus. There was a rather unpleasant incident in the infirmary - Zevran had been injured, and I panicked. I was... taken over by the... spirit of healing I’d called....” Anders’ glance had dropped to the bedcovers as he deliberately obfuscated to his stepdaughter. “Fenris and I were touching, and she dragged him in and showed him how I see inside someone with my healer’s senses. Well, your father has an excellent memory, and it seems that memory served him well - first to heal the Zevran in Leto’s world, and then to heal _our_ Zevran. Including his leg and all the other scarred wounds he’d gotten over the years that caused him so much pain - because he could compare Zevran’s body with the unscarred one of the other Zevran.”

Fenris looked away, uneasy with the praise when it was a happy accident he could remember things well and got home after unlocking his abilities. “It’s nothing to make a big deal over, just happy I could do something for my _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. 

Callus glanced at his father, sure he could sense the other elf was uncomfortable with the attention on his magic. “Papa, how long have you had magic? Rather, when did it … manifest?” he asked.

“Not long into my time in the other Thedas. That Zevran pushed me, made me furious - and next thing I know, fire is in my hands and I was threatening to fry him,” Fenris admitted. 

Zevran had returned to the bed to sit next to Anders; he leaned back against the headboard and wrapped his arm around Anders’ shoulders. “So, a version of myself who is more maddening than even I am? I must meet him!” He grinned then pressed a kiss to Anders’ hair.

“Maker help us if you two meet and get along,” Vic said as he poured himself wine and tried to give a glass to his other elven husband. He noticed how Fenris was just staring at his hands as if he could see the fire again. 

“Love… you ok?” he asked as he took one of the elf’s hands in his. “It’s ok that you have magic, you know that right?”

“Papa?” said Pin. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

“ _Carissimi_?” asked Zevran as he regarded them with a faint frown.

Fenris took the wine, and after a few sips looked around at the others. “I haven’t had a chance to really deal with the fact I have magic. It was learn by force really, and now that I’m home, I can’t stop thinking about it. Forgive me.” He held Vic’s hand in his as he fell quiet again.

Anders pressed a brief kiss to Zevran’s cheek before pulling out of his embrace. He rose from the bed and approached Fenris. 

“Love... magic is something that comes to most mages as young kids. Some of us are late bloomers though. I didn’t come into mine until I was twelve. A couple of kids in the tower didn’t have theirs show until fifteen, sixteen. For all we know, yours might have manifested far earlier but in ways that you wouldn’t have recognised. For instance, I never got colds or fevers as a kid. Maybe you healed faster, or... weren’t affected by really hot weather as much - Dorian’s mentioned to me that ice was the first thing he was able to consciously manifest, even though it’s lightning he resorts to when stressed - and he never feels too hot, though he suffers from the cold terribly. Something about having the ice in his blood, he said once. But the chances are, it was always there, just not in a way you could consciously draw on. And I imagine what Danarius did would have locked a lot of that up inside you - to use your magic, you have to be able to really feel, to be aware of your body and your surroundings - and I imagine that with the pain you were in, being aware of your body was the last thing you wanted.” He smiled sadly. “Your body was in shock on an ongoing basis, from a magical point of view. Maybe it just took this long for it to recover enough after the Temple of Mythal for you to be finally able to touch it?”

“That makes as much sense as anything, I suppose,” Fenris agreed as he glanced up at Anders and thought about something. He had been able to heal Zevran after learning the body of another version of his love. He touched Anders’ chest as he thought about trying the same with the other Anders, if it would work.

“Love, you have a look about you - what’s running around in your head?” Vic asked warily. 

Anders looked down at Fenris’ hand then back up at the elf with a bewildered expression. “Love?” he asked. 

Zevran had risen from the bed; he moved to stand beside Fenris and stared hard at the blond mage, who was now beginning to feel a little paranoid as everyone seemed to be staring at him - or, more precisely, his chest.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” said Zevran quietly. “If you are thinking what I am thinking... would you like me to go find where Leto has taken the other Anders?”

Fenris glanced up at his husband. “Leto took him? _Venhedis_ , he can’t be trusted with Anders!” the elf said as he slipped off the bed to get his sword and find his double. 

Invictus got in front of him before Fenris could go on a tear. “Easy, I think we should let our love find him and meanwhile, I’ll go down to the dungeon and plead for the other Zevran to be let out. Why don’t you stay here, hmm?” 

“Leto is dangerous Vic, he might hurt the other Anders,” Fenris replied even as he felt Vic trying to get him to sit down and relax.

“You’re dangerous too, even more so now that you can throw fire around,” Vic reminded him. 

“And Leto will not harm _me_ ,” said Zevran. “I do not think he would have tried when my leg was yet crippled - and now? I am more than a match for any man - or elf.” He grinned. “I shall return shortly.”

Leaving Vic to calm down his tall husband, Zevran headed out into the corridor and headed down the hallway before taking the side hall where he knew Leto had been moved after the whole rotunda tower had been ruled off-limits. He trotted down a short flight of stairs then strode along until he reached Leto’s door. He knocked, and waited.

He was greeted by a rather concerned Leto and Dorian. “Zevran? Wait, which one are you?” the elf asked. 

Zevran arched an eyebrow. “I am assured that your Zevran still languishes in a cell for the regrettable crime of having tried to kill me, alas, so I am afraid I am the Zevran of _this_ Thedas, and not your own.” He glanced at Dorian. “I am fairly certain that Fenris does not know you are here, Dorian; I shall be kind and not mention it. He was already unhappy that your Anders had been led away by Leto.” He returned his gaze to Leto. “It is in fact your Anders that I wish to speak to, if I may?”

“Something is wrong with him, we came back after he had a bath and… look for yourself.” Leto stepped aside and let the smaller elf in. He took Dorian’s hand without thinking, hopeful the magister wouldn’t pull away. 

Zevran entered and walked over to the bed, staring down at the sleeping mage. He bent over him, a small frown appearing as he reached out a hand to gently brush hair away from the pale face. It deepened as he stared down at him. He took Anders’ chin firmly and tilted his head to stare at both sides of his face before lifting a limp hand to share at the tracery of faint grey lines that were slowly reaching up the mage’s arm; he laid the hand down again.

He straightened. “Has he been singing to himself? Or humming?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, he was humming when we came back to the room. What does this mean?” Leto asked. 

Zevran closed his eyes for a moment. What he had seen in the sleeping mage was something he had been terrified of one day seeing in his own love. He opened his eyes again to meet Leto’s anxious look. “I am sorry,” he said. “It is his Calling.” 

As he watched Leto and Dorian exchange bewildered looks, he felt his heart sink further. “He... had not told you of the Calling then? Either of you?”

“No, I met him in Kirkwall and Dorian not until he joined the Inquisition,” Leto replied as he glanced at the blond. “What does this mean, is he… is he dying?” the elf asked.

“Far worse,” said Zevran bleakly. “When it is time for a Warden’s Calling, they return to the Deep Roads one last time... to die fighting darkspawn. But if a Warden is too far gone, the darkspawn no longer see the Warden as being other than one of them. I do not know what would happen if it continued on beyond that; possibly they would become a darkspawn themselves. All I know is that when Hawke, Fenris and our Anders ventured to the Vinmark Mountains, they encountered a Grey Warden Commander who had gone to his Calling many years previously and was... barely aware of who he was. Not quite a ghoul, but not a thing that Anders would have wanted to become.” He sighed. “Anders himself told me of this years later, and begged me to end his life when he should feel his own Calling come upon him. He knew that Fenris and Invictus could not do such a thing. He... died before that time could come. He was returned to us, and he was free of the Taint.”

“No!” Dorian gave a strangled sob. “Please! We fought so hard to free him from his demon! There must be _something_ we can do!”

Zevran drew a slow breath. “I believe there may be a cure. I was sick of the Blight myself when we returned from facing Solas in the Fade. Somehow, I was cured - by our Dorian, with the aid of Mythal. He gave the cure to the Wardens. I do not know if he can make it here - but if anyone can cure Anders now, it is he.”

“Can we go see him now? Or should someone stay with Anders?” Leto asked as he tried to stay calm for himself and Dorian. “Or should we take him to your Pavus?” he asked. 

Zevran glanced back down to the sleeping man. “Dorian, I think you should stay with Anders. Leto, I will go with you and speak to our Dorian. And if need be, I think we have mages here who are familiar with Vigil’s Keep and can take us to the Wardens - but I pray Dorian can aid us, for I do not think Anders has too much time.”

“We… we just got him back,” Leto said as he watched Anders sleep. “This isn’t fair.” 

“I know,” said Zevran gently. “Come, Leto. We do not have too much time.”

The taller elf let go of Dorian’s hand reluctantly, but not before he closed the distance and leaned in for a kiss. “May I?” he asked hopefully. 

Dorian glanced up into his eyes, biting his lip, before tilting his head up and closing his eyes, kissing Leto long and deeply. “Bring the cure or this other Dorian swiftly, _amatus_ ,” he breathed.

“Of course _amatus_ ,” Leto breathed before following Zevran, unsure what the Antivan thought of their reunion - though his mind was on the former warden more than his magister.

Zevran strode on ahead, leading the way swiftly. He deftly side-stepped a hurrying messenger, then took the steps up to the main hallway two at a time and strode on towards the great hall - which, even at this hour, was brightly lit with people still dining, talking and a group of Chargers carousing near the fire. He ignored them all, sashaying through the throng with unconscious grace before taking the steps up to the Inquisitor’s quarters two at a time, unaware of the intent stare of Leto behind him as the elf slowly realised that he hadn’t seen a single hint of the elf’s limp.

“Zevran...you’re not hurt anymore?” Leto asked as he caught up with the Antivan. “How did this happen?” 

Zevran laughed. “Miraculous, no? I have your Zevran to thank, in a way; my _carissimi_ discovered his magic in your Thedas, and had cause to heal your Zevran. And so, he knew what an unscarred body, unhampered by old injuries, should look like - and he was able to heal me. That is why I wanted to speak to your Anders - so we could likewise be able to heal my Anders’ heart.”

“Heal your Anders’ heart? But Fenris has just discovered his power - how in the Void could he do this?” Leto asked as he checked out the slighter elf, shocked at the changes in him. 

Zevran halted and gazed at the ground for a moment. “ _Mi cuore_ has suffered two heart attacks. Each has weakened his heart terribly. A third will kill him. But if a healer can compare his damaged heart with the unharmed heart of your Anders, they will be able to see how his heart _should_ be. And then they can restore his heart to full health, and... and....” He looked up, and took a deep breath. “And _mi cuore_ , my heart, will live on and grow old with us.”

“I see… but this will be a moot point if this Calling claims him,” Leto replied as he waited for Zevran to knock. He had no interest in dealing with Meneris more than he had to.

Zevran nodded. “Just so,” he agreed bleakly, and knocked briskly.

“Go away!” Meneris’ voice came through the door, faint as if he was close to the door but not willing to open it.

Zevran frowned, but leaned against the door. “Meneris? It is Zevran. May I enter?” He waited a handful of heartbeats, then added, “Please, my friend. I would not disturb you, but... this is to save two lives. Please.”

The former Inquisitor stared at the door for a moment before unlocking it and letting it swing open. “What is it?” he asked as the two elves came in.

Zevran glanced around, and immediately spotted Dorian. The magister was curled up in the bed, his face buried in his arms. It was impossible to tell if he were awake or asleep.

He turned to Meneris, who also looked dreadful. “My friend... what has happened to you both?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

“My temper has cost us much after I hurt Aeolus and Isabela came calling. But you came for a reason, what is it?” the elf sounded defeated as he went back to his husband and sat with him. 

“ _Mi cuore_ will not survive further damage to his heart,” he said quietly. “But my Fenris was able to heal the damage to my leg by comparing it to the unscarred leg of Leto’s Zevran. And so, we thought, why should my Anders’ heart not be likewise healed if it can be compared to the healthy heart of his mirror self?” He glanced towards Dorian. “But Leto’s Anders... his Calling is upon him. And so I come to beg Dorian for his cure.” He stared towards Dorian, then slowly dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “Dorian... if Leto’s Anders cannot be cured... then both men will die. And then I will die too, for I do not want to live in a world where _mi cuore_ does not live.”

Leto was surprised at his tone, considering what he knew of his own Zevran. He saw the uncomfortable look on the other elf’s face before Meneris shook Dorian’s shoulder.

“Please get up,Zevran, there’s no need for kneeling. Especially considering how I’ve treated you,” Meneris said as he gently shook his husband again. “Love, please sit up and hear Zevran.” 

Dorian was still for a while, then slowly uncurled and sat up and glanced at Zevran. There was a scabbed cut under his left eye that stopped short of the eye itself, and there was a haunted look in his eyes. “Why don’t you go to the Wardens? Why come to me?” His voice was rough.

“Because you have been a friend to Anders and to his daughter,” said Zevran quietly. “And because I trust you.”

Dorian glanced to Meneris, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared at Zevran. “I... I need my notes,” he said slowly.

“Then... you will help?” asked Zevran.

“What? Yes, I.... Dumat, yes, of course I will help! I won’t stand by and let an innocent man - _two_ innocent men - die because I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to bestir myself,” said Dorian. He rose from the bed then paused, staring down at Zevran. “ _Venhedis_ , man, get up - I only feel more guilty just _looking_ at you down there!”

Zevran rose to his feet and bowed gracefully.

“Thank you Dorian,” Leto added with a bow. 

“Thank me when your Anders is healed - though I warn you now, the cure is not pleasant,” replied Dorian. “Right. To work then!”

Zevran and Leto exchanged looks. There was hope yet for the Anders of both worlds - if there was time....


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Vic pay a visit to Leto's Zevran in the dungeons which has serious repercussions for everyone.

The cells beneath Skyhold were not the worst place Zevran Arainai had ever found himself in, he reflected - but that didn’t mean he was necessarily enjoying himself.

He had had no idea where they might choose to take him for interrogation; he was too much in shock at what he had done. When the portal had opened, he had seen the young elven woman that Fenris had said would help bring them through to his own world - but just behind her stood a Crow, his face hidden by a black scarf worn over mouth and nose, golden eyes glittering beneath the black hood.

He didn’t think twice. He had no idea how the Crow had gotten there, but Fenris had said this young woman was his step daughter - and Zevran’s only response was to attack to defend her.

The other Crow was clearly his equal in fighting technique, but was hampered by a bad limp. Zevran had taken advantage of that, harrying the man with a flurry of blows and knife strikes that the Crow was barely able to parry, slowly giving ground under Zevran’s onslaught until he was able to slip past the man’s guard and bury his blade in the man’s guts. He’d stood over him, triumphant, as the man bled and clutched at the fatal wound. He’d bent down and snatched away the scarf, intending to look at the face of the man he’d surely killed as he died -

And found himself looking into his own face, golden eyes wide in shock and pain as the other Zevran gasped in agony.

Zevran Arainai was not by nature a superstitious man. He cared nothing for either the Creators of the Dalish who had spurned his Dalish mother and thus condemned him to be born in a whorehouse and sold to the Crows as a child, or for the Maker so beloved of the Andrasteans. But there is something about staring into the eyes of a man who bears your face that would strike deep into the subconscious of any man, and Zevran could only feel a visceral sense of terror, horror, dread - to be swiftly followed by a deep remorse as he realised this was Fenris’ Zevran. The _carissimi_ he so clearly loved and missed - and he had just condemned him to an agonising death.

He’d backed away, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of Fenris and the woman desperately trying to heal the dying man. When she said that the Crow would live, Zevran had only been able to stare, numb with shock.

He had hazy, dreamlike memories of the woman opening another portal, screaming for help; and then other portals opened and there were healers and other people, bearing away the other Zevran, Fenris, their Anders, the woman - he was led through another portal as people took charge of the horses; and then he was confronted by guards and he had put himself in their hands, confessed to attempting to kill their Spymaster - and then he couldn’t help himself. The need to confess to all he’d done was overwhelming.

He had not paid attention to where they were taking him. He half expected to find himself dragged to that interrogation chamber where he himself had slaughtered so many. In his nightmares he had dreamed of finding himself bound hand and foot to that table as faceless interrogators tortured him - but instead, he found himself in a dark cell under a different part of the fortress. His hands were manacled, all his knives and armour stripped off, sitting on a cold hard chair as various people came and demanded to know what he’d done.

And he’d told them. He told them everything. It felt strangely freeing to finally confess the terrible details of every single thing he had done - the innocents butchered and slaughtered, the prisoners tortured to death; the heinous acts he’d committed - every single atrocity.

They had stripped him, given him a pair of loose, ill-fitting grey coarse cloth pants, and led him to this cell. Now he sat in darkness, his ankles shackled by chains, his wrists still manacled, the only contents of the cell the hard wooden bench he sat on - and was presumably meant to sleep on - and a bucket in the corner to piss in that the chains barely allowed him to reach. The only light came through the narrow barred window in the door.

He sat in silence and stared at the flagstone floor. He wondered what they would do with him. Hang him, most likely, he thought. An ignoble end for Zevran Arainai, Master of Crows; but here in this world, he was nothing and nobody. Just some pathetic wretch who was guilty of murder.

Perhaps he should have remained behind, taken his chances with Leto. But Dorian was leaving with Fenris and Anders, and so he of course went too. And now this was his reward - a stinking cell, cold, alone and chained, facing the noose.

He sat in silence, listening to the distant sounds of voices - someone in another cell somewhere shouting, the clank of chains as another hapless unfortunate was marched to a cell of their own; the voices of passing guards.

He wasn’t sure why there were either guards or prisoners here. Fenris had told him that the Inquisition had been disbanded here in his own Thedas, yet this Skyhold seemed as busy and bustling as it had seemed in his own world - though granted with less screaming down here in the dungeons than in his own world. To whom, then, did these guards report to? And if there were no Inquisition, why did they seem to have so many healers - and mages capable of using that strange portal magic?

All was strange, unfamiliar and wrong and yet somehow so familiar - the keep itself, these dungeons. It all served to make him feel all the more uneasy, uncomfortable - like he had missed a step in the dark and was in freefall now.

He tongued his split lip, there in the darkness, and smiled to himself. He had fallen back on habit as he was led to his own cell; flirted to get a rise from the guard, a reaction - _something_ \- and was rewarded by a snarl and a backhanded slap. That, at least, was familiar and predictable, and the throbbing pain of his lip kept him grounded.

So Zevran Arainai waited, and bided his time in the dark.

**

Fenris had finally been calmed down after Zevran left to fetch Dorian and Leto but he was antsy. He kept pacing from the bed to window and around until the others were tired watching him.

“Papa, what is wrong with you?” Callus asked as he tracked the older elf’s movements.

He looked at his son, shrugged and kept pacing. Fenris wasn’t annoyed just unsettled. 

Anders frowned slightly as he watched Fenris pace. He’d been a little bewildered and then bemused by all the fuss, and had finally sat down at the table with a glass of wine to await the return of their husband with the other Anders. He hadn’t really had much chance to lay eyes on the other Anders, really; his attention at the time had been taken up with all the noise and chaos as the College and Chargers had been roused to help bring Fenris and the others home from Adamant, and then he’d been distracted by the fact that Fenris was really, truly, finally home at last. He’d been aware of a couple of the healers reviving the other blond mage and then finally all the other people were gone, Leto was there, and the other Anders left looking dazed and bewildered in a chair on his own.

“Love,” said Anders gently. “It’s... a little worrying seeing you this antsy. I’m sure Zevran will find this other me soon - what’s up?”

“I have a bad feeling… about the other Zevran, and now that people have seen our love up and about they shouldn’t be holding him in a cell. Blood magic was done to him, that can’t be good, he wasn’t ok and I’m worried,” Fenris replied.

“Why don’t we go and check on him? It will be better than watching you pace like a caged mabari,” Vic asked.

“Not a dog,” Fenris muttered as he passed by his husband. 

“Fenris Hawke,” Vic called out as he got in the elf’s way. “Love, come on.”

Anders got to his feet. “Fenris, love,” he said as he made his way towards them both. “Vic is right. Look, just... I can see you’re worried about him - and having been on the receiving end of blood magic myself... well. Just go check. Maybe find out why they’re still holding him and what can be done to get him out? If need be, I’ll go to Krem - it’s his Chargers who have been handling most of the guard duties since the Inquisition ended, after all, so if anyone can order him freed it’ll be him.”

“I’ll go with you, because if you go down there with that expression you’ll terrify them,” Vic said as he reached for his boots. 

“Very well,” Fenris said as he started to reach for Leto’s staff and caught himself. “Give that back to Leto when he returns, I...shouldn’t have it,” he said before following his husband to the dungeons. 

The guards were playing cards and making rounds of the prisoners when they descended down to the dungeon level. Several of them stood as Fenris and Vic halted and glanced around; one of the guards stepped forward. 

“Can I help you, sers?” he asked. “The prison cells are off-limits unless you’ve clearance to visit one of the prisoners.”

“We’re here to see Zevran, the other one I brought back. He thinks he killed our husband, but we want to inform him of his failure,” Fenris said as he stared down the guard. 

“We aren’t going to be long, ser,” Vic added. 

The guards exchanged glances. “You’d best come talk to the lieutenant,” shrugged the first guard. “She’ll make the decision on whether he’s allowed visitors.” He turned and led the way to an office set off to one side. He knocked and a woman’s voice bade him enter.

The lieutenant was an older woman, her auburn hair greying and pulled back into a low bun. She was leafing through a report but glanced up as they entered.

“Lieutenant, they want to speak to the Crow.”

She nodded. “That will be all, Aron.” She looked at Fenris and Vic as she laid the report down. “Please, sit. Can I ask your interest in the prisoner?”

Vic caught Fenris’ hand in his before the elf could go on a tear. “We wanted to see him because he surrendered thinking he’d killed his….” He cut himself off, realizing how strange what he was about to say sounded.

“He thought he’d killed another Crow, which he didn’t. So we came to let him know and see if we can get him released,” Fenris finished.

The lieutenant sat back in her chair and regarded them thoughtfully. “See, here’s the thing. Ordinarily, one Crow kills another? Not my problem and frankly it’s one less of the buggers to worry about. But this man confessed to attempting to kill the former Inquisition Spymaster - and went on to confess to far more murders, some in quite graphic and disturbing detail. I’ve questioned many people in my time, and he didn’t give the impression of making it up - this is a man who is horrified by what he’s done. However we can’t just have a trial and hang someone based purely on a confession; we need more evidence than that. So we currently have him in a cell whilst we investigate further. Doesn’t help that even now after the war against the Venatori is technically over, the countryside is still in chaos - we get reports of murders and slaughters on a weekly basis as the Chargers’ informants and scouts report in. It’ll take time. If your... friend... is innocent and merely delusional, then we’ll free him - but until then we have him safely under lock and key. Although,” she went on with a grim look, “He’d do well to moderate his behaviour - I’ve had complaints from a couple of my guards that he’s overly mouthy and far too good at pressing people’s buttons. I’ve already had to discipline one of my men for striking him.”

She frowned, then shrugged. “But there’s no reason why I can’t let you visit for a while. You’ll have to turn over your weapons, and submit to a search - but then you may see him for an hour, no more.” She rose to her feet and bellowed, “Aron!”

“Ser?” Aron appeared at the door.

“Security check and weapons surrender, then let these two see the Crow. One hour.”

“Yes ser. If you would like to follow me?” asked Aron.

Ten minutes later, they were being led down a long hallway towards a cell at the farthest end. Aron halted before it. “Bit of a mouthy one, he is. We put him down here for his own safety - solitary confinement or he might get throttled by one of the other prisoners, frankly.” He leaned towards the barred window in the door. “Oi! Arainai! Wake up, you’ve got visitors!” He unlocked the door and showed them in. “I’ll be back to let you out in an hour,” he went on before locking the door behind them.

Zevran was sitting up; he’d been sprawled on an uncomfortable-looking wooden bench, seemingly asleep, but now he regarded them with glittering gold eyes in the gloom of the cell. Chains clanked as he shifted; his bare ankles were shackled, as were his wrists. As he looked up at them, they could see a bruise on one cheek and his lip was cut and scabbed. 

He gave them a grin. “Come to see me before they hang me, eh?” he asked quietly, then laughed.

“No one is going to hang you,” Fenris said quietly as he approached the elf. “You’re not there and I’m not Leto, remember?” he said before crouching down and lighting his brands so they could have some light.

“Love...he’s not ok,” Vic warned. Zevran had flinched away from the sudden bright light, lifting his manacled hands to shield himself. Too long in the dark - his elven eyes had adjusted too fast, too well to the darkness, and the sudden brilliance of Fenris’ brands was physically painful. He blinked rapidly, then squinted back at Fenris.

“I know full well where I am,” he growled. “And you are the one who brought me here - remember?” He grinned mirthlessly. “ _Carissimi_....” he added, lower, drawing the sound out in a mocking mimicry of a lover’s endearment.

“Don’t… please don’t,” Fenris asked as he dimmed his brands and stepped back.

“ _Carissimi_?” Vic asked quietly as he watched them and wondered what his husband hadn’t told them about his time in their world.

“Later,” was all Fenris said as he watched the Crow. “Zevran isn’t dead, and we’re trying to get you out but they have to look into whatever you confessed.” 

Zevran sat back and regarded him for a moment then chuckled. “I may not have killed him - but I did make the attempt, no?” His smile turned lopsided. “It is rare that I have sought to kill someone and then failed. Not a good habit for a Crow, far less for the Crow Master. But I think it is for the other crimes they will hang me. I could see it in their eyes, you know - I think they would have liked to put me to the noose there and then. But I suppose their rules have spared my neck for now.” 

His eyes shifted to Vic. “And who is this you have brought to me?”

“My husband, Invictus,” Fenris replied warily.

“Fenris was worried about you and thought hearing that our Zev was fine would help sway the guards to let you out. I didn’t know you’d admitted to other things that have them investigating. Are you being treated alright?” Vic asked. 

Zevran thumbed his split lip. “Oh yes, _mio amico_ , very well indeed,” he purred. “Though I could always wish for more.” His eyes drifted to Fenris, and he smirked. “What do you say, _carissimi_? Once more, for old times’ sake?” He glanced back to Vic. “Hmm, a large, strong man... I would _love_ to have you use my mouth,” he whispered, and licked his lips before he glanced back to Fenris. 

Somehow, in the course of their talk, he had slowly managed to take on a wanton air in spite of his chained state, slowly spreading his legs as far apart as he could manage with his ankles shackled, reclining back against the wall, tilting his head back just so as he watched Fenris from beneath lowered lashes. 

“Take me, _carissimi_... both of you. You want to use me, no? As you did before?”

Fenris drew in a breath and counted in his head as he waited for Invictus to explode at him.

“ _We will speak later love,_ ” Vic said quietly in Tevene as he watched the blond elf. 

“Sorry, my dance card is all full up. Besides I’m sure your Dorian and Leto can take care of you when you get out. Guess your hand will have to do until then.” He noted the terrified look on Fenris’ face but didn’t want him to get dressed down where half the keep could hear them.

“Oh, I am sure my Leto will take _very_ good care of me,” purred Zevran as he watched them through half-lidded eyes. “Tell me, _carissimi_ ; have you told your... husband... just how Leto likes to treat me? Leto would _love_ these chains and manacles, would he not?”

He turned and sprawled upon his back on the hard bench, shackled hands raised above his head. “Oh yes,” he whispered. “I can almost picture him above me now....”

Fenris made a strangled noise as he watched Zevran and profoundly regretted coming to visit the Antivan. He refused to turn and see his husband, all he could do was stare at the blond elf.

“Actually he has, and unless he’s changed I don’t think he should actually come around you, Arainai. Once you’re out of here, we’ll make sure Leto doesn’t get near you. I’ll ask about getting some length on those chains since you can barely move around. You’re already in a cell, this is too much.”

“Oh, Leto has already come around me,” murmured Zevran as he turned his head to stare at Fenris. “And on me. And in me. And over me.... many, many times.” He chuckled again, then twisted around to lay on his stomach, manacled hands now stretched in front of him. “Please do send him down to see me. The guards here are far too gentle, and they really should be shown how you should _really_ treat a Crow....”

“STOP THIS!” Fenris yelled as he sunk to his knees before the bench. “You… we did this so you could be free and not... stop trying to do this to yourself, you don’t deserve it. Please stop it!” he begged the Antivan.

“Fen?” Vic said, surprised at his love’s outburst. 

Zevran had flinched back at Fenris’ shout, his back pressed against the cold stone wall as he curled in upon himself, arms raised to protect his head against an anticipated blow, his breath coming faster. “ _Mi dispiace_ ,” he breathed. “I - I forgot - you - you like me on my knees first - please, I will be better, I forgot!”

“Dumat... No, no no. Zevran, please, you’re not ok - we have to get you help,” Fenris replied as he moved forward and stopped right before the bench. “Not Leto, I won’t hurt you. Please stop, please?” he begged. 

Vic watched them, sure he was missing something but it reminded him of fights with their love, times when he sunk very low and was eager to prove himself. Or when he felt useless in Nevarra. 

Zevran held still, his breathing ragged as he shivered. After a moment, he lowered his arms a little to regard Fenris warily. “You are not Leto,” he echoed. He uncurled a little more, darting a glance at Vic before returning his gaze to Fenris. “I, I need... I need to get out of here... they are going to hang me....”

“No, they aren’t,” Fenris repeated as he stared at the elf. “Vic, I need to see Krem and hope he’ll let him out. Yell at me later, please?” he asked quietly. 

Zevran was clutching his head, biting his split lip and trying not to hyperventilate. “Please....” he managed to whisper. “Help me.”

“I’ll see about getting you out, even if it’s to our custody,” Fenris said as he reached out and caressed Zevran’s hair, trying to calm him. “It's ok, it will be ok,” he repeated.

“It’s the blood magic, isn’t it?” Vic asked.

“Some of it, some of it is how he’s allowed Leto to abuse him in penance.” Fenris swallowed as he thought about the times he’d tried to get them to hurt him in a similar way but he pushed that away before he was next to the Antivan instead of helping him.

“It will never be alright,” Zevran moaned. “You should never have brought me here - I should not have come! This is not my world - everything feels wrong, different, even when it seems the same, and I cannot remember what is true here and what is not! You should have left me there for Leto - at least I knew my place then. At least I knew what was real!”

“No… you don’t have to be his punching bag, I had to bring you. You would have died if I’d left you, Void - someone almost succeeded once as it was.” Fenris turned to Vic and asked him to get a guard. “We can’t leave him like this, or someone needs to put him to sleep, being in a dungeon isn’t helping.”

“Go away,” whispered Zevran as he curled up once more and hid his face. “Leave me be. I was fine here alone! Just - go!”

“Remember when you wouldn’t let me alone because you knew it was bad for me? Same applies here, and I’ve already seen you shaken, it’s ok,” Fenris said as got closer and pulled the elf into his arms. “It’s ok, its ok.” 

Invictus was surprised at the care between them, but didn’t judge. He leaned against the bars and let them have the moment. He could fight with Fenris later about his lie, right now their not-Crow Master needed his help. 

“No, it is not!” exclaimed Zevran as he tried to push away, somewhere between distraught and angry. “You do not know what you have done to me! Now, when they see me like this, they will know that I am weak - that I can be hurt! I was fine alone, I could handle it - they could not see who I truly am inside, and I was safe! And now you have destroyed that, and you do not even know what it cost me to do it, become that man again!” He pulled away and lurched to his feet, stumbling away as far as the chains would allow him. “You have _changed_ me, Fenris! With you, I learned to live without a mask - yet here, I will not survive without it!”

“You can and you will!” Fenris snapped back as he watched the other elf. “It’s just us here, no one is calling you weak, or will hurt you. Please...Zevran, I don’t know what it cost but I won’t leave you to suffer here.” He approached the Antivan, unsure if he was going to get hit or hugged for his attempts.

Zevran held still but turned his face away. “I am chained and a prisoner, Fenris,” he said in a low voice. “And I know the depravities that men will stoop to when they have another at their mercy. I know all the ways a man can be broken. They have not done more than occasionally cuff me and swear at me. They do not dare go further; I am more trouble than it would be worth. But like this? Alone, afraid, vulnerable? Then yes, I am weak, and weak men do not last long in solitary confinement, far away from where others might hear them scream.”

“I’m going to scream if you don’t bloody well listen to me.” The elf was about to go into a rant but Vic’s hand on his shoulder checked him.

“Yelling won’t help him Fenris, and you getting upset won’t help either. Let him gather himself until the guard comes to us, then we see Krem and work on getting him released, alright?” Vic said quietly.

The white haired elf nodded and stepped away before he did something else to upset the Crow. Fenris leaned against the bars as he tried to collect himself. 

Zevran turned and shuffled back to the hard wooden bench, the chains clanking harshly on the cold flagstones. He sat down again, head bowed, manacled hands in his lap. Vic could see that the elf’s wrists and ankles were already badly chafed from the cold iron, the skin broken in places. The elf was silent and still, merely breathing softly as he tried to find some sense of calmness, to reclaim that other self - the self that courted the cuffs of his guards, that had goaded reactions and laughed.

Vic waited until he was calmed, or at least seemed that way, before he approached and offered to heal his wounds. “May I?”

Zevran lifted his head a little then tilted it to one side slightly. “Will it hurt?” he asked.

“No, I’m not a great healer like our Anders but I can relieve that chafing and heal the cuts from these manacles,” Vic said as he let the elf see his hands glow a soft green.

Zevran pulled his hands back and shook his head. “Then no. I prefer the pain. It keeps me grounded.” He lifted his eyes to Vic and managed a ghost of his earlier grin. “Besides... the me I was being before? He _loves_ the pain... which makes the guards think it is pointless hurting him, because he will merely enjoy it too much.” He swept his tongue over his split lip. “And sometimes, he still does.”

“You’ll get infections if these get worse. Please don’t martyr yourself like this!” Vic asked again. 

Zevran shrugged. “All the more reason to get me out whilst my sanity is intact, yes?” he murmured wrily. “And in truth, I hardly notice it in any case. This, though....” he touched his lip with his fingertips. “This, I notice more. Or would, if I had the stomach to eat anything.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Fenris asked as he straightened up.

Zevran shook his head. “They brought food some hours ago. I was not hungry. The thought of eating....” He glanced back down at his wrists. “No. I have not eaten. I... am thirsty however. The water was spilled when I goaded one of the guards too much. They have not brought more. Though I did not ask.”

Fenris growled under his breath as he listened but he couldn’t find something to put ice in and melt for water. “When they come back for us, I’ll ask that water be brought in.”

“I am sure they would love it if I begged,” replied Zevran as he lifted his head and tossed his hair back over his shoulder, out of his eyes. “I would not, however. But if you bring me water then I will drink, _car_ -” He checked himself, eyes flicking to Vic. “...Fenris,” he finally finished.

Fenris caught himself before he snapped at the elf; he knew where it came from now, and he was already worried about Vic’s reaction once they were out of the cell. Instead he cupped his hands and formed ice as he held them in front of Zevran. “Vic, would you melt this please?” 

The brunet did as asked, curious as to why Fenris was helping that way instead of just yelling for a guard. He was still upset over the lie they’d been told but he held back from yelling until later.

Zevran’s eyes flicked up to Fenris, and he bent to drink, sipping the water slowly, draining every drop with a very, very faint moan that Vic wasn’t sure he hadn’t just imagined. The soft sound Zevran made next as he laved Fenris’ hand with his tongue after every drop was drunk was definitely not his imagination, however - and nor was the hedonistic sound Zevran made next as he drew one of Fenris’ fingers into his mouth then suckled on it lightly, his eyes holding Fenris’ gaze as he did so.

Fenris bit his lip as he watched Zevran, unable to drop his gaze, even as he heard the little moan he let slip at how it felt. He froze as he heard the noise he’d made even as he kept watching the blond elf. 

“Didn’t know being in a cell was a thing you liked, love,” Vic whispered in his ear.

“Vic --” he stammered as he pulled his hands away suddenly. “It’s not that… I....” He trailed off as he saw the hurt in his husband’s eyes. 

Zevran glanced up at Vic sidelong. “Ah, I see... you truly _are_ claimed, eh? And by the jealous type, I see.” He smirked. “Would you like me to drink from your hands also?” His gaze dropped to Vic’s hands. “Such strong-looking hands... a man could get quite carried away, eh?” He swept his tongue across his lower lip, then he gave Vic a wink.

“Cut it out, we already have more than enough with one Zevran - and Maker help us if you two ever meet and....” Vic trailed off as he considered what that could be like. “Maybe you do need to meet him so you can treat him to himself for a while and spare us,” he said as he pondered how unnerving it was to see Zevran like this. 

Zevran gave him a wider grin. “Get me out of this cell and you can watch your Zevran fuck my brains out as often and as hard as you wish,” he declared.

“I don’t think he’d want us watching, but hold on and we’ll see about getting you out,” Vic said before he took Fenris’ hands in his and made his husband stare at him. “Hey, you ok?”

“No...not ok, not at all,” Fenris replied. “Where is the guard, hasn’t it been an hour?” he asked as he looked away. 

As he spoke, there was a jangling of keys coming towards them down the hall.

“Ah, alas, I fear you will get your wish and I am deprived of such lovely amusement,” sighed Zevran as he reclined back so his bare back was against the wall, his gaze on the door. As Aron unlocked it, he made kissy noises at him. “Aron, my sweetheart, you took your time!” he grinned.

“Shut it, you,” growled Aron. “Or you’ll find yourself taking your next meal from Kris again. And if you come onto him once more, you’ll be lucky if a split lip is all you’ll get.” He glanced at Fenris and Vic. “Told you he was a mouthy one, sers.”

“It’s ok,” Fenris replied quietly with a look back to Zevran before hurrying out of the cell. 

“Can you all get him food and more water? I’m off to see someone about him, so we can get him out sooner than later - which I think you’ll all prefer, yes?” Vic asked as he watched Fenris waiting for him.

“Maker, you’ll be welcome to him,” shrugged Aron. “Mealtime’s not for a while yet but there’s probably some bread left over from our mealbreak. Water I can do though.”

“Thanks, we’ll see you later - hopefully to get him out of your hair,” Vic said before they were led out of the dungeons. He glanced at Fenris, unsure what to make of their visit or if he should say anything to his husband about his lie.

Back in his cell, Zevran listened to their footsteps as they moved away; a few minutes later, Aron returned with a chunk of day-old bread and a cup of water that he set down on the bench.

“Ah, _mi amico_ , and here I was certain you would forget me again!” remarked Zevran coyly. He rose to his feet and stepped far too close to the guard. “Do allow me to thank you _properly_....”

The guard shoved him back hard; Zevran’s shoulder struck the wall, as did the side of his head; for a moment all he could see was stars, stunned. 

“Keep your bloody ‘ands off me, Crow!” spat Aron as he turned away.

Zevran sat up slowly, his head ringing, but began to laugh. “I love you too, Aron!” he called as the guard locked the cell and continued back down the hall, muttering angrily to himself.

Alone once more, Zevran reached for the cup of water, and closed his eyes.

**

The lieutenant glanced up as Fenris and Vic returned to her office. “Well?” she asked. “I did say he’s a mouthy one.”

Fenris glared at her but kept his mouth shut, barely. Invictus just gave her a withering look. “We’ll be back with permission, later,” he said before they exited. They had work to do before the other Zevran got his ass kicked for being...well... himself.

They returned to their rooms to find their own Zevran pacing restlessly, his expression sombre, as Anders tried in vain to persuade him to stop. As they entered and took in the scene, Anders turned to them with an imploring look.

“He’s been like this since he got back a few minutes ago,” Anders said. “I can’t get a word out of him. Fen...?”

“I need a drink first,” the warrior replied as he went for the whiskey and sat down shakily. He was still waiting on Invictus to snap at him for his lie, and the fact he hadn’t was worrying him.

Vic watched Zevran pace for a while before he glanced to Fenris and back again. He took the whiskey Fenris had poured for himself and a dirty look silenced the elf’s protests. Instead he sat quietly. He glanced over to see Zevran still pacing and upset. He gave Fenris one last warning glare before going to comfort their love.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he tried to get the Antivan’s attention.

Zevran made as if to turn away from him, then halted, dragging a hand through his hair distractedly. He took a slow, deep breath, glanced at Anders, then shook his head as he glanced away, seemingly unable to meet Anders’ eyes. “I -” 

He broke off, and had to take another slow, deep breath, and Vic suddenly realised Zevran was fighting hard against tears for some reason. The Antivan swallowed hard. 

“The other Anders. Calling,” he managed, before turning away to resume pacing.

“Wait, Dorian has a cure for it. You asked him to help, right? Why are you pacing like this? Our love is fine, he won’t have the Calling, remember? He’s going to be fine!” Vic tried to assure him. 

Fenris raised his head and stared at them, worried for their plan to save their love and for the other Anders. 

“He _had_ a cure,” snapped Zevran. “He gave it to the Wardens! He has not had to make it himself since the dose he made to cure himself of the taint. And... and I remember some of my own experience of that cure. It was agony, and I remember hearing myself screaming. I am a Crow, I am familiar with pain - _he_ is not! And the cure very nearly killed Dorian! What if Dorian cannot reproduce his work? Or if he can, and something goes wrong? This? There is too much in the balance, and - and -”

He turned and flung a hand towards Anders. “And when I looked down on this Anders as he slept, saw the corruption in his skin? All I could see was _mi cuore_ \- even now, it is all I can see in my mind’s eye!”

Anders’ eyes widened. “Oh, love!” he exclaimed.

“Damn,” Vic said as he pulled Zevran into his arms and held him. “We’ll be ok - if nothing else we can get to the Wardens and get him help.” 

Zevran tried to pull away, turning his face away as he tried to twist about in Vic’s arms before finally giving up, leaning in against Vic as he took a slow, steady breath, then another.

“I went to Meneris. Dorian was in bed; he would not look up. I begged on my knees for Dorian to save him,” he finally said in a low voice, his eyes on the floor.

“Was he able to help or did he remain in bed?” Vic asked him quietly. He looked up and noticed Fenris coming closer to them.

“He promised he would help,” said Zevran quietly. “It will take time for him to retrieve the formula from his notes and make the potion. I do not know how long. I hope that we have time.” He fell silent; they could tell that he wanted to say more, but was holding it to himself.

“Love, Dorian is brilliant - he can do this. I’ll go help him, or at least keep him company if it will make you feel better,” Fenris offered. 

“Before you go love, there’s the matter of what our other Crow mentioned in the dungeons,” Vic reminded him.

“Vic, can’t it wait? I know you’re mad at me and rightfully so but please, I beg of you let it keep until we’re done with the other Anders’ calling?” Fenris asked.

Zevran glanced up, a distracted frown on his face. “Other... ohhh. The other Zevran is still down there then? And what did he have to say for himself?”

“Yes love, tell him what he had to say that was so interesting,” Vic snapped.

“Invictus, please don’t do this now,” Fenris begged.

Vic let his anger show as he approached his husband, eyes dark with hurt. “Tell them, or I will, Fenris,” he said through gritted teeth, biting off each word before shoving the elf against a wall and hemming him in.

“Invictus!” shouted Anders as he ran to them and tugged at Vic’s arm. “Stop - just stop that! Back off and calm down before someone gets hurt!” 

Both Fenris and Vic felt a pulse of magic wash over them and glanced at him, startled.

“Your hands were smoking, Vic,” Anders said, quieter. “And Fenris....” 

He glanced down, and they followed his glance to see the ice shards melting on the floor below Fenris.

“You’re both mages now,” he said quietly. “And you’re both likely to lose control of your magic when angry. I can’t always be here to dispel your magic. So whatever Fenris has done, we’re going to talk about it.” He glanced to Fenris. “And Maker help you, but this had better not be what I think it is.”

He turned and walked back to his chair.

“Sorry love, guess I still can’t control my temper when it comes to our _beloved_ who would never, ever lie to us again, right Fenris?” Vic asked as he shook his hands to disperse the heat he could still feel.

Fenris had tensed as he hit the wall, unsure if Vic was going to lose his temper as if they were back in Kirkwall. He slid down the wall and braced for them to scream at him once he admitted his wrong doing. 

Anders sat back in his chair, rested his elbow on the armrest, and rested his forehead against his hand. “I can already guess,” he said in a tired, resigned tone. “You slept with more than just Dorian. Which means you also bedded either the other Anders or the other Zevran. And given the way Vic just started in on you the moment you both got back from the dungeon, my money’s on Zevran.”

Zevran stared at Fenris, then turned away and poured himself a very full glass of brandy.

Fenris just nodded his head as he sat there, curled up and afraid of their anger at him for lying. He knew he was in so much trouble, but he didn’t have the ability to look up at them.

“Good thing the other Zevran is so mouthy, or we’d likely never have found out. I thought we agreed, Fenris - how could you look at us and lie, again?” Vic started in on the elf, who just flinched.

Anders glanced at them wearily. “Vic. Back away from him. Let him speak.” He glanced over at Zevran. “Love?” he asked, quieter.

Zevran shook his head and downed the rest of his glass, reaching for the bottle again. “Fenris,” he said tersely. “Invictus. If there is a fight in this room and Anders has another turn, then much as I love you I swear I will kill you both myself.”

“I won’t fight anyone,” Fenris said as he uncurled but remained on the floor unable to look anyone in the eye. “I’ve betrayed you, I doubt any reason I give will be alright and I’ll take whatever you wish to do to me in response,” he said finally.

Zevran turned and hurled the nearly-full bottle of brandy hard against the wall over Fenris’ head; it shattered, drenching both Fenris and Invictus in brandy and shattered glass as the Antivan swore loudly, a long stream of the filthiest gutter Antivan he could muster. He levelled a finger that shook slightly as it pointed at Fenris.

“You will stop begging us to do things to you,” he said, far too quietly. “You will stop with this pleading for us to hurt you. You will never again say those words. I am sick of them, and I am sick at the thought you would think we could willingly punish you like that. This is not a bedroom game. There will be no fucking your way out of this. If I hear one more word imploring us to raise a hand against you then I walk out of this room, Fenris Hawke, and you will never see me again.” He lowered his hand and glared at the elf. “Am I clear?” he whispered. He ignored the shocked looks both Vic and Anders were giving him, keeping his eyes on Fenris.

The elf sat there, slightly shocked at the sound and being drenched in whiskey. “Yes Zevran, you’re very clear,” he replied as he sat perfectly still, afraid the next thing thrown was going to be aimed at his head.

Zevran turned away, making his way back to the drinks cabinet to pull out a bottle of spiced red wine. He poured two glasses, and set one down in front of Anders before crouching in front of the shocked blond mage. “Forgive me, _mi cuore_ ,” he whispered. “I lost control of my temper. It will not happen again.”

Anders took the glass with a trembling hand. “Please, never do that again,” he managed. Zevran took his free hand and pressed a contrite kiss to Anders’ palm. 

Then he rose and approached Vic, his head lowered slightly. He offered Vic the other glass. “Invictus, I should not have lost my temper. I will fetch you a towel.”

“I’ll get one myself,” Vic said as he stepped around Zevran to get one for himself and one to throw at Fenris as he returned. “Well, Zevran, you clearly have something to say; go on,” he said frostily.

Fenris felt the towel land on him but didn’t move, he didn’t dare. He just waited for one of them to speak, tell him to go or lay into him. He wanted to cry but kept it in as he didn’t want to give them anything else to be angry about.

Zevran turned away, stung by the ice in Invictus’ voice - though he couldn’t fault the mage for his anger. He walked over to Anders’ chair and stood beside it.

“I asked him,” said Zevran. “I asked him, and you all heard me. I asked him if he had slept with the other Zevran and he denied it. He lied to me - to all of us, but it was I who asked him. And then he - he says we can do whatever we want to him. And it sickens me to my very heart. I cannot think straight for the grief and anger which is in me right now.” Tears had started to roll slowly down his cheeks, and he was fiddling with something in his hand. “I cannot do this again.”

“Don’t sit there like a lump, say something Fenris,” Invictus snarled at him.

“What can I say? I’m wrong, and all I can offer is an apology, Invictus,” Fenris said as he finally looked up at them, his eyes reddened from the brandy that had poured over him. “Zevran, I ...wasn’t offering myself for punishment, not like you thought. I ...just accept whatever you decide, whether it is to leave me, make me sleep elsewhere, or silence. I’m sorry, I thought...I saw the look on your face and couldn’t admit it. All I can do is apologize and show in deed how sorry I am. If that’s not enough, I accept that,” he finished with a look down to the towel Vic had thrown at him. A few tears rolled down his face but he didn’t wipe them away. 

“I’m not sure which saddens me more,” said Anders tiredly as he gazed into the glass of wine. “That once again, you’ve done this... or that I’m no longer surprised anymore, Fenris.” He sighed. “Is there anyone else we need to know about?” he added dully.

“No… no, Anders,” Fenris lied as he dropped his head and winced as a chunk of glass slipped off his shoulder, cracking where it fell. 

“Oh... I’m glad,” replied Anders in the same dull tone. “I don’t think I could have handled it if you’d slept with the other Anders as well.” Zevran leaned down and squeezed his shoulder gently, and Anders rested his head against the Antivan. “I’m so tired, Zev,” Anders mumbled.

“Go, get cleaned up and find somewhere to sleep, make sure you don’t wind up in someone else’s bed on the way,” Vic snapped at Fenris before turning to stare out the window. He was furious and hurt that after being together so long, the warrior could still lie to him. He knew he was angry and that if he caused a fight, Zevran would keep his word. He missed the miserable, broken expression his words caused Fenris.

Zevran was helping Anders up from the chair, and walked with him over to the bed. As Anders sat on the edge, his back to the rest of the room, Zevran sat with him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they began to shake; Anders let his head fall to Zevran’s shoulder as he wept silently. Zevran glanced back to Invictus but held his tongue as he watched the other elf slowly get up.

When nothing else was said to him, Fenris rose and teleported away from them, to their darkened Nevarran home. It was dusty, the destruction through the upstairs rooms still there, but there was his office, one of the few rooms that wasn’t half-destroyed. He used his new powers to fill the tub with ice then threw a fireball in to melt it while he rinsed himself off. He wasn’t careful as he pulled glass from his hair or clothes, and managed to cut his face as he tugged his clothes off, grimacing at the smell of brandy. He didn’t realize it until he noticed the red on his flannel, but he didn’t bother to heal it, just washed quickly, grabbed bedding and curled up in his office to sleep off the heartache. 

Back at Skyhold, Zevran was straightening slowly as he stroked a hand through Anders’ hair. The mage had cried himself out after a while, and in his exhausted state he had slipped into sleep swiftly. Zevran stared down at him sadly, then quietly moved away from the bed and back out into the main room. He made straight for the bottle of red wine and poured a glass for himself. 

“So. What do we do now?” he asked quietly.

“What do you want to do?” Vic asked as he slumped into a chair. “I love him but I think he’s gone right back to being terrified of us after that bottle throw. Hell, it made _me_ jump.”

Zevran leaned against the table, the wineglass cradled between his palms. “I do not know,” he said quietly. “I think I am exhausted, and maybe I should put off thinking about this until I have slept. But a part of me thinks I would only lie awake fretting at it all night and be no closer to knowing come the morning. I told the truth, Invictus; I cannot do this again - not after last time. I do not know that for me, there is a coming back from this. My anger frightens me; I have never lost control like that. This has been a day of one thing after another, after another; and this revelation coming so soon upon the heels of learning of the other Anders’ Calling? It undid me. I cannot be torn like this, Invictus! A man can only take so much before he must break.”

“You realize that’s not our Anders, right? Our love is in that bed, safe and - except for his heart - well and loved by us.” Vic ran a hand through his hair and grimaced at finding more glass. “I could have waited as well, I saw how agitated you were - so some of that is on me to have waited until you were not so upset.” 

“I know he is not our Anders - up _here_ ,” said Zevran, tapping his temple. “But my heart is not so easily compelled, and what I saw was merely what I have dreaded seeing for so long. Do you know - long before we left to go to Orlais, I begged Dorian to find a cure for the Calling? And the cure he finally used upon me is the one he had been developing for himself and Anders both, though the need was more pressing for Anders. And yet, I was his first cure! Seeing this now? It brings all those fears back.”

He rose and walked over to take a seat opposite Vic. “And when I looked upon that tainted corruption on the other Anders’ face, I saw not only his death but that of _mi cuore_. We both know that if Anders should have another attack like the last, he will not survive. We also know that the healers cannot do much more for him. Our love lives on borrowed time. With the existence of another Anders - a healthy Anders - we know now that our Anders has a chance of a permanent treatment that will heal his damaged heart. But if this other Anders dies, then he takes that hope with him. Is it any wonder I was distraught?”

“No wonder at all, but in our anger… I don’t know that we’ve left room for us to talk once Anders is healed, both of them.” Vic took his hand and rubbed his thumb over Zevran’s wedding bands. “Let’s get them taken care of and then, hopefully Fenris will have come back and we can talk this out.” 

Zevran glanced at the bands. He had tried to wrest Fenris’ ring from his hand earlier, but perhaps he had worn it too long; it had been impossible to get past his knuckle. “Perhaps,” he replied. “Perhaps by then we will have answers one way or the other. But for now? I do not know where he has gone, and that is, perhaps, as well.” He sighed. “So. This other Zevran. He was the source of this unwanted revelation, then?”

“Yes, he wound us up on purpose. Flirted and tried to get us to fuck him, or at the least offered himself up to us with a big grin,” Vic said with a glance to the elf’s rings. “Don’t take that off unless you mean to leave. It will kill him and hurt me; I know if you go that Anders will follow - so think carefully on what you do with that.” 

Zevran’s eyes were on the ring, but he didn’t reply to Vic’s comment about Anders.

“Maybe I should go visit this other Zevran, then,” he said instead.

“I don’t think it will be a good idea, he was falling apart when we left him, or he had,” Vic said quietly. 

“What were the crimes for which they were questioning him?” asked Zevran with a faint frown. “After all, I am alive and well.” He carefully did not mention to whom he owed that good health.

“Apparently he started confessing to all sorts of crimes that he likely committed in his world. We tried to get him out but they wouldn’t budge on it. I’ll go see Krem after I get a bath and changed. Will you be alright if I leave you here for a while longer?” Vic asked with a final squeeze to his hand before he got up for a change of clothes.

Zevran glanced into his wine glass, then nodded. “Anders is sleeping. I have wine. I will be here.”

“Will you be alright if Fenris returns?” he asked warily.

Zevran stared into the wine. “No,” he finally answered, before he drank.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris returns to face the music.

Dorian frowned as he added a scoopful of powdered orichalcum to the contents of the flask that was bubbling over a low flame; he stirred it carefully as he studied the colour of the liquid in the flask. When it failed to change colour, he sighed, then bent down to blow out the flame before he sat back on his stool and knuckled his eyes tiredly, then hissed as he accidentally brushed his hand over the fresh scab below his left eye. He probably ought to have spoken to someone about getting that healed, he supposed. The thought was forgotten soon afterwards, his mind too intent on what he was doing.

This was the sixth batch of the potion he’d tried to brew. All had gone slightly wrong in various ways; he’d pored over his notes repeatedly, trying to work out where he’d gone wrong, but he was _certain_ that this time he’d got it right. And yet, the potion in the flask was clearly not quite right - just as each of the others had been not quite right. possibly they might have worked anyway - but with a man’s life in the balance, “nearly right” wasn’t good enough. He reached for a clean flask, relit the small spirit lamp, and began again.

He’d been at this for over a day now, aware that time was fast running out. He couldn’t even remember how long the original potion had taken to brew; that had taken several steps, and resulted in nine different vials that had to be taken, one after the other. Dorian had refined the process still further down into one potion, but still he had to recreate the original potions from his notes before he could do that final step to result in a certain cure for Anders.

He studied the notes intently. They had been drawn from his original journals of notes and records of all the experimentation he’d done years ago, when he’d helped Alexius try to find a cure for felix. They hadn’t succeeded, but they’d given Felix years more of life that wouldn’t otherwise have been possible. Dorian had drawn on those notes as he’d worked further on a cure after becoming a Warden himself, spurred on by Zevran’s entreaty. Zevran himself had been the first recipient of that cure, and Dorian the second. And now he was trying to save the life of another Anders.

His eyes scanned the lines of notes in his own copperplate script, and the additions from Mythal in Anders’ bold, firm hand where he’d made corrections here and there. He studied the corrections hard, certain it was somewhere in those that he’d erred. It was the enchanting steps that were at fault, he was certain; the infusion of spirit energy that Mythal had described. He stared hard at the notes, until the firm black strokes of ink seemed to blur from the tiredness in his eyes; and then he turned to the racks of reagents to begin again.

“Dorian,” said Parcival as he regarded the magister from the doorway of the research laboratory. “It’s nearly dawn, and you’ve been here over a day now.”

“And I shall remain here until I’ve got it right,” replied Dorian tersely, not glancing around as he carefully measured out precise amounts of reagents. He heard the quiet footsteps and the soft swish of Parcival’s robes as the First Enchanter came to join him at the bench.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Parcival asked.

“No,” snapped Dorian then hesitated. “Wait. Yes. Maybe....” He glanced to Parcival, then gestured at his notes. “There’s something I’m missing here, I’m certain. Some crucial step I’ve omitted somewhere, and maybe I’m just too tired to see it.”

Parcival gestured to the notes. “May I?” he inquired.

“Please, be my guest,” replied Dorian. “Dumat knows, I’ve been staring it so long that a fresh pair of eyes might see where it is I’m going wrong.”

“Dorian, there’s fresh coffee in my office and you’ll find a tray of pastries in there that the cooks sent up for my breakfast,” said Parcival as he drew over a stool so he could sit and study the notes. “Go have a cup and eat something whilst I start reading your notes. You need to take a break and actually eat something; lack of food won’t be helping your work any.”

Dorian was about to snap at him but checked himself. Parcival was, after all, a healer, and he was right.

“ _Venhedis_ , yes, alright,” he said ungraciously. He rose from the workbench and stumbled towards the door. He felt utterly exhausted, but this potion was far too vitally important to put off or leave to another.

But a cup of coffee, food, and the assistance of a capable healer might be just what he needed.

**

Fenris woke up with a sense of dread to the day. He wasn’t sure what to do about his spouses’ anger with him; he wasn’t even sure they wanted to be married to him anymore. He laid there for some time before trying Dorian’s ring; hopeful his _amicus_ would tolerate a visit from him. He waited for a few minutes and after no answer he gave up.

He wanted to go back to sleep, anything other than consider how badly he’d screwed up. Soon he was in a fitful sleep, unable to go fully under, and not rest well. After a couple hours of broken sleep, he finally decided to bathe and dress before going to Skyhold. He wasn’t sure what would happen, or if he’d be told to leave but it was better than the uncertainty of laying around in their house. He appeared not far from Anders’ rooms, his demeanor defeated as he approached and knocked.

It was Invictus who opened the door; the mage stared at the elf for several long minutes before pushing the door open and indicating with a jerk of the head for Fenris to come in. He turned and walked back inside to his chair by the unlit fire, as if uncaring whether Fenris came or went. Hesitantly, Fenris entered, closing the door quietly behind him.

Glancing around the room, he could see that the thin embroidered silk chiffon curtains that separated the sleeping area from the rest of the room had been tied back. Anders lay in the bed, though it was close to noon. He was curled up, with his back to the room. Zevran was leaning over him, one knee on the bed, one hand on the exposed shoulder Fenris could see where the comforter had slipped down a little; the Antivan was speaking softly to Anders. Fenris couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but it was in a pleading tone.

Invictus cleared his throat and nodded at the tall elf. “Do you want to hear him out?” 

Fenris stilled as Zevran looked at him, a chill up his spine at the way the Antivan looked at him. He timidly looked down, unable to bear the cold, flat look he was getting. 

“That depends,” said Zevran, his tone icy. “If he comes only to beg and plead forgiveness, then no. If he comes to actually talk, and face this like a man? Then I will listen.”

He turned his attention back to Anders. “ _Mi cuore_ ,” he said in a softer, gentler tone. “Please. You cannot lay a-bed like this; it is not healthy! All day yesterday, and now today too? You cannot sleep forever, my heart!” There was anguish and worry in the Antivan’s voice.

“May I sit or would you like me to stay here while I speak?” Fenris asked quietly. He looked and felt terrible, his hair in a hasty ponytail, in spare clothes he found at the house, and the fresh scar on his cheek visible if Zevran looked at him again.

Zevran glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “It makes no difference to me if you stand or sit,” he stated tersely as he lowered himself to sit beside Anders, one hand still resting on the blond mage’s shoulder. Anders hadn’t moved since Fenris had entered the room.

Fenris glanced to Invictus, and found him giving the same flat stare, which made him wonder if he had made a mistake in coming back. Instead he looked down and started to tell them about his time in the other world, explaining how he’d found the other Zevran broken up over Leto, how he had offered himself to him that night. His voiced hitched as he told the Antivan how his double had tried to seduce him out of fear. How part of it was keeping up the ruse of being Leto at first, because not seeming to bed him would have aroused suspicion.

He looked up when he explained the night of the coup, how they all thought they could die since he had no idea if they’d win against Vengeance. “That Zevran thought he would die in the coup - he had the riskiest part to play, and...that’s when things changed between the three of us. Even though I’d pushed them together, I felt a little bit of jealousy and hate for myself after the performance I had to put on in the throne room, we fought...and when I went to go speak to them; that’s when I realized he was reliving things Leto had done to him. I broke because I’d harmed him, just as if I were Leto, maybe worse. He’s lonely, been abused by the other me...I just wanted to make it right for them, and not become what you told me I was becoming before Adamant. Part of it was guilt for what Leto had done, part of it the ruse to keep alive there, and wanting to help him free himself from the Void he was stuck in.” 

Zevran had listened impassively as Fenris spoke, but when the warrior described how the other Zevran had reacted down in the dungeons, his expression began to subtly change. Fenris could see the Antivan was disturbed, his eyes darting away, a frown on his face as he ran a hand slowly through his hair.

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Vic, Anders, others have said that when they touched my bed in the Rookery, they had... visions, visions seemingly of me - chained to the bed, screaming, injured. The Leto I have known here has been gentle, careful with me; when Aeolus confronted me, it was Leto who came to my aid, took me to the infirmary. I... this Leto you describe and the Leto I have known, I....” He looked back at Fenris, and the white-haired elf could see that Zevran was deeply shaken. “What... what did he do to this other me?”

Fenris looked to the floor again as he spoke. “He abused Zevran there, beat him, made him scream and cry for him before going to bed Dorian. He..he, had collars and chains tied to the bed for when he ...used him. I don’t know why he has behaved differently here, but Leto is abusive and dangerous. He collared Dorian sometimes!” He caught himself before he could get worked up, instead folding in on himself in case the Antivan threw anything else at him. 

Zevran was now staring at him, horrified, as he rose to his feet. He glanced away, one hand pressing against his forehead, trying to take in what Fenris was saying. “You mean... Leto... was taking out his anger on my mirror self to spare his Dorian? That... this other Zevran, why would he allow this? I... the Rookery, these visions you all speak of - I, I will go, see them for myself -”

Anders sat up suddenly and clutched at Zevran’s wrist. “No!” he said hoarsely. “Zevran... no, please. That... what I saw... please, no, you don’t want to see this!”

“Trust me you don’t want that Zevran, it was disturbing,” Vic added as he watched how Fenris was acting. He’d seen him afraid before but they hadn’t yelled at him, yet.

“He thought he deserved it for what Vengeance had made him do. For what he’d done in service to the Inquisition. That Zevran does not know what love is or even if he did, he’s convinced he deserves to have that. He ...thought he loved Leto, and endured the abuse, even going as far as letting his agents fuck him to ensure their loyalty. I know what it's like to think you love someone who hurts you after all.” Fenris fell quiet again, unsure what would come from what he’d said. He was worried about Anders’ silence and the coldness he could feel from Vic.

At mention of the other Zevran whoring himself, Zevran pulled his wrist free from Anders’ grasp and backed away, shaking his head. “No... enough! I will not hear more of this!” he declared. “I will see this Zevran and speak with him. This... I cannot fathom how this could - no. I must know the truth!” He turned and strode towards the door.

Fenris had flinched when Zevran spoke up and backed away as he walked past. He didn’t even look up at the elf, but huddled against the wall.

“Zevran...calm yourself before you go down there. You...you can be a lot when you are in a good mood, but you know yourself well enough to have an idea of how you would react to someone coming to you like that, after you’ve been locked in a cell like he’s been for a couple of days. Take a breath, try and be a bit more settled before going down there, please?” Vic asked as he glanced to see how Fenris had reacted to the Antivan’s outburst.

Zevran halted at Vic’s words, not looking around as his hands clenched into fists; for a moment, Vic thought the blond elf was going to disregard his words and walk out, but Zevran exhaled slowly then turned back towards him. “You... are right, my love. I am no good to anyone like this, least of all him. Tell me... tell me they are at least treating him well in that cell? If I were there... alone? I think that by now I would not be so sure of myself, and more vulnerable because of it. I once spent five days in the prison cells of a duke in Orlais, and by the end I was... not myself.”

“He’s been winding them up from what I heard, and - well, he did that to both of us, which is how we learned of what happened. He offered himself up to both of us, even after we declined. For what it’s worth, Fenris did try to comfort him when he saw through his...act for the guards. He was sure Leto was going to show up and drag him off, or we were there to see him before he was hanged. I honestly don’t know how you would receive him if he were to do the same to you,” Vic said with a nod to where Fenris had gone still against the wall. 

“These things he has confessed to... that you say Vengeance made him do...” said Zevran slowly. “Now, the meaning of my dreams is more clear. I have dreamed of performing atrocities - torturing men, women... even children. These... these are the things _he_ did?” He looked up at Fenris, and then he glanced down as he stared at his forearm, and a healed cut that ran down the inside, slashing across almost to the wrist. His hand began to shake, and he stumbled to the nearest chair then dropped his head into his hands.

“Zevran?” Vic said as he approached the blond elf, careful to just touch him and not startle him. “What’s wrong?”

“I do not know,” whispered Zevran. “Thoughts... images. I... am not myself. Things I know I did not do and yet... I see myself doing them. I...”

He lifted a hand to touch Vic’s arm, then reached out to draw him closer. “Hold me, my love,” he whispered.

“Alright.” Vic tugged him into his arms and ran a hand down the elf’s back to soothe him. He couldn’t see Fenris from where he was sitting but he was worried about how silent Anders was and how frightened the warrior seemed to be of their husband. 

Anders had sat up in the bed, twisting around to watch Zevran steadily falling to pieces in front of them, his own eyes full of distress. He glanced up at Fenris, his eyes wide, then back at Zevran and Vic before returning his gaze to Fenris.

“You’ve said why you slept with Dorian, and... I could accept that,” he said softly. “This... this confession of how you came to sleep with Zevran - with both of them... it’s horrifying, what he was subjected to, and if it were our Zevran - Maker, I think if I had been there, I honestly can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. I _saw_ that vision, and I could only imagine our Zevran in that position, and - oh sweet Andraste, I just wanted to reach out to him, to stop his pain.” He glanced back over to their Zevran. “Does... does their Anders... does he remember what he did?” he added in a whisper.

“Some of it, he said he has gaps in his memory and what he did remember? He wished he hadn’t,” Fenris replied as he glanced at Anders then dropped his gaze just as quickly. He wanted to leave or sit but his fear of Zevran’s temper had come back with the other elf’s outburst. So he remained against the wall, silent until he was spoken to.

Anders nodded slightly. “Yes... when Justice was ripped from me, I... lost a lot of memories. Some of them, I’ve never regained. And he was possessed far longer than I was.” He glanced over at Zevran and Vic again, then to Fenris. Slowly, he lifted a hand. “C-come here... please?” he whispered.

Fenris shook his head and looked at Zevran. He actually looked afraid to pass the other elf, though he needed Anders but he remained where he was. 

“Fenris. _Please_?” pleaded Anders as he stared at the elf.

Anders’ tone got him to look up again and he saw how pale and scared the blond looked. He skirted around Zevran and Vic then went to the mage, and wrapped an arm around him. Anders pressed himself against Fenris and rested his head against Fenris’ shoulder. 

“Don’t leave us,” he whispered. “I need you. Zev needs you - he lost control, I know he would never have thrown that bottle if he were himself. I... he actually _knelt_ to beg Dorian to help, in front of Meneris, and I think that’s part of what set him off - Maker, love, _he_ needs you and - and I’m scared. Scared of losing you, of Zev losing himself!” 

“He doesn’t need or want me, he loves you more,” Fenris said quietly as he held Anders close. “Let me enjoy this while I can, before he tells me to go,” the elf added before he dropped his head to Anders’ shoulder and wept. He could feel Anders shaking, and was unsurprised when he felt wetness on his shoulder.

Zevran had curled against Vic, but as he heard Anders quietly weeping with Fenris, he lifted his head, the sound drawing him out of his own spiralling thoughts. “ _Mi cuore_?” he murmured. “He... he needs me....”

“Easy, easy.…” Vic said as he let Zevran up. “Remember what I said about choices,” he added as he took a seat.

“See what I mean?” Fenris said as he tried to draw away, not wanting to be within reach of the Antivan. Anders wouldn’t let go, however, and as Fenris tried to rise and move away from the bed he realised he was dragging Anders with him.

Zevran rose and moved towards the bed, his eyes on Anders; he climbed on the other side of the bed and moved towards the mage, lifting a hand to gently touch Anders’ hip. “ _Mi cuore_?” he said softly. There was a haunted look in the Antivan’s golden eyes, but his expression was filled only with concern for Anders as he pushed his own issues aside.

Fenris turned away as much as he could with Anders hanging on to him, unable to see the tenderness between them. He looked up to see Vic watching him without the hostility of before but he couldn’t look at him either. He knew he _should_ stay, but fear was making him want to flee.

Anders was now stretched out across the bed, one arm around Fenris even as he stretched back a hand to Zevran, who took it in a firm, sure grip. The Antivan slowly raised his head to stare at Fenris as Anders hung between them, as though he might be torn apart between them physically as much as emotionally, clinging to both as he cried.

Invictus approached the bed cautiously and rested a hand on Fenris’s shoulder, hoping the elf would look at him, but he just felt him tense from his touch. “Fenris?”

“Invictus...is that my sign to go?” he asked quietly. 

“Not from me, but you’re scared of Zevran aren’t you?” Vic asked as he dropped his hand and sighed. He didn’t know what to say when Fenris nodded yes and stayed as far from the Antivan as he could while Anders held on to him.

Zevran moved slowly towards Fenris, unwilling to let Anders be hurt as the mage held on to both men. “Fenris... do not fear me,” he said softly, then glanced to Anders, whose eyes were shut. “We... we cannot keep doing this. To Anders, to Invictus. This has to stop.”

“Easier said than done,” Fenris said quietly as he tensed once he realized how close Zevran was. He hated reacting that way but getting that bottle thrown and his outburst earlier had tripped that response. “You don’t need or want me here, I will stay if Anders wants it but I’ll leave you alone until I can not flinch or fear you.” 

“Don’t go!” gasped Anders.

Zevran lifted his other hand to gently stroke Anders’ wet cheek, moving closer. “ _Mi cuore_... neither of us will leave you. Come, my heart; you cannot be ripped in two like this. You must be whole, yes?”

“I can’t be whilst we’re all like this!” Anders cried as he opened his eyes and looked round at them all. “Look what we’re doing to each other! We can’t go on like this, or it’ll be the death of me!”

“Anders please… no one is leaving, are they Fenris?” Vic said as he rested a hand on the elf’s shoulder to check him from going. He could feel how tense he was but he refused to let him go again. “We’re going to get something to eat, some wine and just be quiet. Fenris you look like you want to run but I’m not letting you.”

Fenris had fallen quiet, staring at the floor. “I want to but I’m not going. You can stop holding my shoulder Invictus, I’ll… stay,” he said finally though he kept turned away from Zevran.

“Then turn around and face Anders and Zevran, stop acting like you’d rather be anywhere but here. You came to us, which is one reason why I let you in; if we’d had to look for you…” he trailed off but finally left off to go to the door and request a tray be sent and a lot of wine.

Fenris scooted back so Anders wasn’t literally pulled between them, but he didn’t look at Zevran, while he curled up next to Anders, carefully reaching out to him for a hug. As Fenris pressed himself against Anders, the mage slumped and let his grasp on both men loosen, giving a small, stifled groan as the strain in his shoulders eased.

“Anders?” said Zevran, worried at that small noise of pain; Anders rested his head on Fenris’ shoulder and let himself be held.

“I hurt,” Anders replied quietly. “It’s... inside as much as outside. I want... _need_ you both. I’m terrified of one of you leaving and not coming back.”

“Oh, _mi cuore_ ,” Zevran sighed as he lifted his hands to gently massage Anders’ shoulders, all too familiar with how he knew Anders’ body must be feeling.

“As long as I’m allowed to stay, I will,” Fenris said quietly to him, still as Anders held on to him. He glanced up when Invictus returned but he dropped his gaze so he wouldn’t have to speak or do anything but lie there. He was heartsick and weary, but figured no one cared. 

“Food will be here soon, does anyone want wine while we wait?” Vic asked as he took in the sight of Zevran and Fenris holding Anders between them but the larger elf was not looking at them, his eyes had closed after he’d seen Vic. 

“I don’t want food,” Anders said quietly. “I’m not hungry.”

“ _Mi cuore_ , you did not eat anything yesterday,” said Zevran, worried. “You have eaten nothing today. Please... you must eat something?”

“Please eat love, moping and not eating isn’t good for you,” Vic added as he poured himself wine if no one else was going to have any.

“Please eat Anders,” Fenris added quietly. 

“He did not leave this bed yesterday,” said Zevran quietly. “He has lain here since you left. He will not eat or drink.”

“Not hungry,” murmured Anders, his eyes closed.

Fenris didn’t respond to the other elf, he just curled closer to Anders and begged him to eat for his well being. That it would help feel better after they had just gone through such a rough talk. He refused to look at Zevran as he spoke. But Anders remained silent, and merely shook his head.

“Anders... my heart... you cannot starve yourself,” said Zevran, agitation in his voice. “Would you truly starve yourself until this matter is resolved between us all?”

“Anders, you need to eat. We’re all here together and have spoken, starving yourself isn’t going to help especially if you are weak and have another turn...we could lose you and that would break us, love,” Vic added as he sat on the bed to run his hand through the other mage’s hair. “I will beg if I have to.” 

“Not until Zevran and Fenris resolve things between them,” murmured Anders. 

The Antivan stared at him, then looked up at Fenris. He had spoken several times now to the other elf, and he hadn’t missed the way Fenris didn’t answer him or even look in his direction.

“Love, we can’t force them to fix things right now, I think it's going to take time for them to be ok with each other again. You saw how afraid Fenris is,” Vic said quietly while glancing at the two elves. “Would you want them to force us to reconcile before we’re ready if the tables were turned?” 

Anders finally opened his eyes and looked up at Vic. “No,” he finally admitted. “But I can’t imagine you ever hurting me as much as this, love. And I’d sooner die than do this to any of you.”

Fenris had opened his eyes and was looking at Zevran but he didn’t know what to say to him. He’d given them his story, and since the Antivan didn’t want him to beg forgiveness he didn’t have anything else; and he knew offering to go would upset Anders even more. He just stared at the elf forlornly as they talked around them.

“Let’s give them space to talk without us hovering maybe? I’d rather you eat and sleep than looking so lost and scared. You can’t hurt us like this I think, you’re too much of a gentle soul love,” Vic said as he kept looking at the two elves, unsure what was going to happen. 

Anders slowly sat up, then glanced back at Fenris and then Zevran. He hesitated, then allowed Vic to take his hand and gently draw him after him, leaving the bed. They moved over towards the table in the main room.

Now there were only a few inches between Zevran and Fenris. The Antivan was reclined against the pillows, laying on his side, and staring up at Fenris.

“What happened to your cheek?” murmured Zevran. “I did not cut you. I know there was no mark on you when you left.”

Fenris scooted back to be out of the elf’s reach before replying. “Some of the glass must have been in my clothes. I noticed it when I bathed and left the cut to scar,” he said as he dropped his gaze to the bedding.

Zevran frowned, then rolled to his back as he stared up at the bed canopy, resting his hands absently on his abdomen where the blade had struck him two days before. “You would deliberately leave a scar there? Why? Do you seek to have me reminded of my loss of control every time I look at your face?” he asked softly.

“I did not expect to be allowed to return for good. It doesn’t matter,” Fenris replied as he frowned. “It wasn’t about you, leaving the scar. It ...things are broken and you frighten me so I don’t know what to do or say beyond my explanation. Whether you accept or not, I feel your affection for me is lessened if not gone.”

“So now you know what it is to fear someone you love,” murmured Zevran. “I have been afraid of you so often. It feels strange to know that you are now afraid of me.”

“Then why do you remain with me if you have feared me?” Fenris asked tiredly.

Zevran closed his eyes. “Because I still love you, even when you terrify me,” he admitted. “Even when I have known that you could so easily kill me with your bare hands, I have still loved you and faced that danger willingly. I have risked your anger so often, Fenris, because as much as I feared you, I loved you far more than that fear.” His breathing had quickened slightly, grown more shallow.

“I wouldn’t do that, you know I hate what I can do now,” Fenris said as he rolled to his side and stared at the other elf warily. “I don’t feel you love me as you used to, but that’s my fault after all I’ve done. What do we do now? I am scared, hurt and don’t want Anders to hurt. But ...I don’t feel ...I don’t feel like we love each other as much anymore,” he finished quietly before turning away so the Antivan couldn’t see him breaking at finally saying that out loud.

Zevran said nothing as he opened his eyes and stared up at the canopy. He blinked, unsurprised to find wetness on his lashes. Finally, he turned his head slightly towards Fenris. “What you say is true,” he admitted. “I do not love you as I once did. You have hurt and wounded me too much, Fenris, and though you may have healed the scars in my body, you could not heal the scars upon my heart. It is true that Anders is first in my affections now. But that does not mean I do not love you.” He turned and looked up at the canopy again, and felt the tears that had gathered at his lashes roll slowly down the sides of his face. He let them fall as he whispered, “Do you wish for your ring back?” He lifted his left hand from his abdomen and let it lie upon the bed between them - not knowing if he would feel the touch of Fenris’ hand, either to take it - or to reclaim the ring from his finger.

“You’ve been wanting to give it back, I saw you during our fight before I ran off,” Fenris said as he sat up and stared at his rings through his tears. “It will break my heart even more but if you don’t ...if you....” He choked back a sob as he sat there and refused to take the ring. “I...can’t. If you want to give it back, I can’t stop you.” 

Zevran rolled his head on the pillow to gaze at Fenris, blinded by tears. He blinked, but the other elf was still blurred in his vision by the stinging salt tears. “ _Car -_ ” He broke off and swallowed against the lump in his throat, unable to speak.

Fenris didn’t say anything at the dropped pet name; instead he just sat there staring at his rings as he considered what Zevran had confirmed. He was hurt but the shift in affection wasn’t unearned. It still felt like a kick in the chest but he couldn’t argue when it was his fault. 

Zevran’s breath hitched in his chest. If he tried to speak, he knew he would be unable to stop the sob he could feel welling up. He bit his lip hard, and rolled slowly onto his side, his hand still lying between himself and Fenris, palm now turned up as if in silent entreaty. He closed his eyes, but could still feel tears squeezing out beneath his lashes, hot and wet.

Fenris looked at the elf’s hand, unwilling to take it if that meant he was expected to take his ring back. “I won’t take the ring back. If you don’t want it, leave it on the bed.” When Zevran didn’t move, he laid back down and stared at the blond elf. “What do you want from me now? I don’t want it back and I’ve earned this loss of love. So what now?” he said in defeat.

Zevran lifted his other hand and wrapped it around his torso as he curled up and turned his face into the pillow. He could feel his shoulders shaking, but he knew that if he tried to speak now he would fall apart. He gasped for breath.

Anders was watching from his place at the table. “Vic,” he whispered. “I... I can feel... Zevran is in pain. Physical pain. What is Fenris saying?”

“I’m not sure, he’s being very quiet.” Vic looked over and saw how Fenris had curled up and wasn’t looking up. “My only guess is they are being honest with each other and things aren’t as pain free as they hoped. Though Zevran seems to have a hand out but Fenris hasn’t taken it.”

“Maker, it seems wrong to just sit here and feel Zevran’s pain like this - it’s his chest, his throat... and yet... they have work this out,” sighed Anders.

Zevran was unaware of their words, their stares. One hand was now clutched tight around his torso as if to physically hold in his tears; the other still rested limply between himself and Fenris. He gritted his teeth even as the pillow beneath his face became sodden. He had not known it was possible to physically hurt like this merely from another’s words or intensity of feeling; he could almost wish instead for some wound from a blade or fist. That would have been easier to bear. He could feel his shoulders shaking, and it was hard to breathe.

Fenris felt the shake of the mattress, which was what made him sit up finally and cautiously reached out to touch Zevran’s shoulder. He was nervous to do it, in case the elf responded out of habit but he felt his sobs and it hurt him. Zevran didn’t turn his head, but the hand that had lain between them now lifted to rest over Fenris’ hand on the Antivan’s shoulder and squeeze it, as Zevran drew a ragged gasp of air, the sound muffled as he finally allowed himself to sob, open-mouthed, face pressed into the pillow as though he could smother the sound that way.

Though he was afraid of being pushed away, Fenris curled up with Zevran and held him through his sobbing. He kept quiet, and just held the other man. He felt a bit of despair over hurting him so much, but he was also at a loss at where to go from their talk. 

Eventually, Zevran’s sobbing quietened, until he was laying silent in Fenris’ arms, his breath still hitching a little. 

“Fenris,” he finally managed, his voice still thick with tears and hoarse. “What now? Where do we go from here?” He was unaware he was echoing the other elf’s thoughts. “How do we move on?”

“I don’t know.” the Tevinter elf admitted as he laid there, stiff as he wondered the same thing. “You’re hurt, I’m hurt and nothing seems to be resolved. I’m still scared, but I know I can’t do anything about you loving me less - it’s what I’ve done to you, after all.” He sighed and stared up at the canopy. “I’d rather leave and think for a few days, but it will hurt Anders. I will not be responsible for his death. The house isn’t in good enough shape to return and even then, if I do not stay it will be a problem. So, I simply don’t know,” Fenris finished.

Zevran’s eyes were closed. He was limp and ennervated in Fenris’ arms after the crying fit. “I am so tired,” he murmured. “So much has happened and my thoughts run in circles. First thinking I was dying... waking to find you home safe, and you had healed me... learning of the other Anders’ calling, humiliating myself before Meneris... and then all of this, just as I was feeling so unlike myself, distracted, upset....” He sighed. “I wish Invictus had not said anything just yet of what the other me said. Had I had a night’s sleep, I do not think I would have lost control. But I had not even eaten, I was exhausted, and I lost myself.” He bit his lip and added softly, “I am truly sorry for that.”

Fenris frowned but didn’t snap as he wanted to. He also didn’t have any energy left for another argument. “No apology needed, the harm I did was great to you all.” He lay there staring up at the canopy, wishing they would either decide to speak later, or for someone to tell him to just go. It was cowardly but he knew if he went on his own that would be the end.

Anders rose and took a step towards them then halted in indecision; he glanced back at Invictus and then jumped as there came a knock at the door which then opened immediately without waiting for answer.

“Did it,” declared Dorian as he strode in, Parcival at his heels. The magister looked exhausted and almost haggard, face slightly pale and dark shadows under his eyes. The hand that set the potion flask on the table was trembling with fatigue.

“Dorian, you need to rest, I told you I could bring this!” said Parcival as he laid a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian ignored him as he looked around.

“Where’s Zevran? Is there time? The other Anders - is he still with us?” he asked.

Zevran was sitting up, staring over towards the magister, disoriented.

“Dumat, man, what happened to you?” exclaimed Dorian as he took in Zevran’s appearance.

“I could ask the same of you,” said Zevran faintly. “Did you not sleep? Have you been working on this all this time?”

“I was a bloody idiot,” sighed Dorian, running a hand uncaringly through his hair. “It was staring me in the face the whole time. It was Parcival who’d seen it - it needed a _healer_ to cast that step, and mine is completely the wrong form of spiritual magic, of course. With his assistance we were finally able to make the potion.”

“We made enough for five more doses,” added Parcival. “And I will write up the whole recipe and procedure formally, to be taught to the highest seniority of healers. A cure for the Blight is far too valuable a weapon in the healer’s arsenal against diseases to risk losing it again.”

“Anyway, where’s the other Anders?” asked Dorian. “The sooner we give him the cure, the better. It’s not without danger, of course; Nathaniel reckoned it’s almost as dangerous as the original Joining to Wardens. But with Parcival on hand, he’ll have a decent chance of pulling through.”

“And me,” said Anders firmly.

Zevran turned back to Fenris. “Will... will you come?” he asked softly.

“If I am wanted there,” Fenris said sullenly, he’d hoped they would leave him alone there but that wasn’t to be.

“Get up and stop fucking moping - _now_ , Leto Hawke!” Vic snapped as he heard the mulish tone from the elf.

To Vic’s shock, Fenris didn’t argue, he just got up and waited for them to go, not lifting his head.

“Then let’s be about this, shall we?” said Dorian. “And then I am going to find somewhere reasonably soft and fairly horizontal to sleep for a week.” He rubbed his face slowly, unheeding of the trail of blood he managed to smear down his face from the broken scab below his left eye. “Come on.” 

Fenris fell in behind everyone, quiet as they trooped down to the room where the other Anders was resting. He watched as Dorian, Parcival and the others filed in with Anders and Parcival near the other mage. He’d noticed the cut on the magister’s face but thought it wasn’t the time to bring it up.

The other Dorian seemed fascinated by the appearance of this other version of himself - slightly scruffy after a day and a half of intense work in the research lab, pale, dark shadows under his eyes almost as dark as the ones beneath the eyes of his own Anders, who was staring warily at all the people suddenly crowded into the room. Dark grey tendrils of corruption wove beneath his skin, creeping up his throat and around the corners of his mouth. His skin was mottled with unhealthy-looking bruises, and there was a distant, far-away look in his eyes as though he were distracted by some unheard sound.

“What’s going on?” he asked, glancing up at Leto. “Leto? Why are all these people here? Why -”

He broke off as he stared at Anders. “You... have my face,” he said slowly. “Who are you? Am I dreaming? But then it seems I’m always dreaming....” He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes. “I can hear them... singing? Do you hear them? Calling me....”

“This is bad, almost like when Zevran had the blight from your blood, love,” Vic said as he watched the other version of his love.

Leto had noted Fenris hanging back, seeming to stare at nothing during the chaos in the room. “Hey, you’re not looking too hot.” 

“I’m not doing well,” Fenris replied quietly as he watched them work. 

“Can I do anything?” the other white haired elf asked as he tried to stay out of the way.

“No,” was the terse reply he got before Fenris fell quiet again to watch. 

Dorian had passed the potion to Parcival. “Anders,” he said firmly. The Blighted mage had started quietly humming to himself but his eyes focused on the magister. “Anders, you are very unwell. Parcival here has a potion to heal you. It’s important that you drink all of it.”

Anders smiled up at him. “There’s no cure for this,” he shrugged. “But alright. I’ll drink your potion.” It was clear he thought he was merely humouring them as he took the potion. It was black, thick and viscous, glinting like oil in the daylight that shone through the window. Anders uncorked it then downed it in one, with a faint grimace for the taste.

He handed the flask back to Parcival. “That tasted foul; what on earth was in -”

He broke off and clutched his throat, gasping for breath. He coughed, eyes widening in alarm. His eyes went up to Leto, and he gagged, then fell back against the pillows, struggling to breath. He clawed at his throat as he shuddered, and then twisted around onto his side as he suddenly clutched his abdomen and screamed in agony.

Parcival and Anders instantly reacted, both moving forward to press hands glowing with healing energy to the stricken man’s body as the other Anders writhed in pain.

“Maker, make it stop - make it stop!” he screamed. “L-Leto, Leto!”

The elven mage was at his side before he could scream his name again, lending what healing ability he had while he held his Anders’ hand. “I’m here, it’s ok...it’s ok,” he repeated while he watched the blond suffering.

Fenris’ breath hitched as he thought back to Zevran’s cure of the blight, reaching for the Antivan without even thinking twice. He was horrified but couldn’t look away. Zevran allowed Fenris to pull him close, his own eyes haunted. He remembered the agony only too well; it had felt like red-hot blades being jabbed through his body, every breath screamed in pain. Even his torture at the hands of the Crows before he was finally made a full brother of that dark family had paled in comparison to that pain, and as he stared at the blond mage writhing and howling in sheer agony, unaware of anything save the burning inside, he could only watch, unaware he had begun to breathe more shallowly, each breath almost gasped in unison with the man upon the bed.

Anders himself was aghast. He could feel with his healer’s senses what the other man was going through; he tried to apply nerve blocks, aware that Parcival was doing the same, but nothing was working. “He’ll go into shock,” he shouted tersely above the blond mage’s screams. “Keep his organs working! Support and protect!” He could feel his own heart racing and tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest.

Then the blond man stiffened, eyes rolling back before he went into convulsions, the room suddenly silent save for Zevran’s harsh, ragged panting.

“Someone get him out of here!” snapped Anders, his eyes focused on the man fitting and jerking beneath his hands.

Invictus grabbed Zevran by the arm and pulled him towards the door, unwilling to make Fenris do it after their fighting. He had to put him in a bear hug to get him to stop struggling.

“No - Anders - please, I....” Zevran couldn’t speak; his heart was racing, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, his fingers and lips tingling as he hyperventilated. He felt dizzy.

“No, you don’t need to see this after what you went through and how you’re reacting. Come on,” Vic said as he put an arm around the elf and pulled him out and down the hall.

Fenris glanced at them but he turned back to watch the others work to keep the other Anders alive. He saw both Dorians watching but dared not interrupt until things were done. Parcival and his own Anders were intent on their patient; the blond man had ceased his convulsions but lay far too still, eyes half open, seeing nothing. There was blood on his cheek where he’d bitten his lip bloody as he was gripped by the seizure; it stood out stark and red against the pallor of his face.

“Maker, I wish Hal were here,” breathed Parcival, his eyes on the man beneath his hands. Anders said nothing, his own eyes closed, his senses wholly immersed in the body of the man he was trying to keep alive.

The blond mage gave a faint groan, and his eyelids fluttered briefly as he tried to open his eyes. “L-Leto,” he managed faintly. “Tell... tell Zev....” His eyes closed and he fell limp. 

“No...no, no!” Leto said as he poured more healing into Anders and hoped, prayed for him to open his eyes. “Please...don’t be dead, don’t leave us!” he begged. But even as he slipped his own consciousness into the still man’s body, he could feel that Anders was sleeping. His body was showing signs of massive shock, but Leto could feel the magic of Parcival and the other Anders working within his Anders’ body, protecting his internal organs, and his heart was beating strong and steady.

“He’ll live,” said Parcival as he opened his eyes and drew his magic back gently. “He’ll likely sleep for several hours but awaken hungry and thirsty.” He glanced up at their Anders. “I’m glad you’re - Anders? Maker, someone catch him!” Anders’ eyes were closed, and he was slowly collapsing backwards onto the floor.

Fenris dashed forward to grab him before he could hit the floor. He laid the mage down carefully before he looking to the sleeping version of his husband. “Allow me to check his heart, so I can at least help Anders while he’s asleep?” 

“What are you trying to do?” asked Parcival. “You’re no healer, Fenris - let me check Anders?”

“Trying to repeat what I did for Zevran,” Fenris said as he knelt next to his husband. 

“Fenris - I have no idea what you did to Zevran, but I’d really advise you to let me check Anders; I was the one who worked most on him after he was brought back here to Skyhold,” said Parcival, already rising to move around the bed, looking seriously worried. “If it’s his heart again then I need to work fast!”

“Fine, but I wish to help my husband,” Fenris replied as he let healing magic come to him as he waited for Parcival to do whatever he planned to do.

Parcival knelt down beside Anders and laid a hand over his chest. “Maker’s breath,” he breathed. “I can feel his heart going into arrest. Tell me - fast. What did you intend to do and what does the other Anders’ heart have to do with it?” He was already pouring healing magic into Anders’ body, trying to restart his heart. “And for Andraste’s sake keep Invictus and Zevran out of here!”

“He compared them,” said Leto as he stared down at them.

“Yes - that was what Zevran told me when he came to ask for the cure - said he compared the unscarred body of their Zevran to that of ours and used it as a blueprint!” said their Dorian, nodding.

“Maker, now I _really_ wish Hal were here,” groaned Parcival as he stretched his other hand to touch the sleeping man on the bed. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head as he sank his awareness fully down into both men.

Fenris sat back as he watched Parcival like a hawk as he worked. He was ready to assist if needed but he hoped his meager healing skills wouldn’t be called upon.

Sweat beaded the healer’s face as he worked. Dorian was hastily pulling out vials of lyrium and setting them up on a nearby table, ready to hand them to Parcival should the healer falter. Both blond mages lay still, but whilst Leto’s Anders had a healthier colour to his face, the grey of taint fading swiftly, the other mage lay still and white, a bluish tinge to his lips. 

In the hallway, Vic had succeeded in bringing Zevran around, the Antivan sitting up dazedly. 

“The screaming... it has stopped, I hear nothing?” said Zevran, his words slurring a little.

“That’s good, when you stopped screaming the cure had worked and you just needed sleep to recover,” Vic replied quietly. 

“Then why are they all so silent?” asked Zevran as he gazed towards Leto’s door. “Why do they not leave?”

“Not sure, but let’s give it a bit; maybe they are just talking quietly,” Vic added. 

“I am uneasy,” said Zevran, then gave a sudden shiver. “Invictus... something is wrong. They are too quiet - I tell you, my elven ears hear nothing!”

“Don’t panic; let’s just go back in and we’ll be relaxed. Don’t get too excited for nothing, alright?” Vic said as he put an arm around the elf. He helped Zevran up, and they made their way back towards the door. Vic was about to walk in when Leto stepped in the way, pulling the door to behind him.

“I’m sorry, Invictus,” he said quietly, then glanced to Zevran. “You... shouldn’t go in there right now.”

Zevran stared up at him. “Anders. _Mi cuore_. Something is wrong.”

“The healer is working on him - you need to keep back,” said Leto firmly. 

“Tell me what is wrong!” said Zevran, trying to push past him; he may as well have tried to move a mountain.

“Leto, he just wants to be there!” exclaimed Vic. “Why won’t you -” 

He broke off as he saw the sympathetic look Leto was giving him.

“No. Oh no,” said Vic, feeling his heart sink. “It... it’s his heart, isn’t it? It was too much for him.”

“The healer is doing what he can for him,” said Leto heavily.

“No - not after all we have been through!” said Zevran. “He cannot die!”

He lunged forward, and then both Vic and Leto were holding him back as he struggled. 

“Anders? _Anders!!_ ” he screamed.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions all round, and matters come to a crux between the four.

Fenris could hear Zevran’s voice screaming from the hallway, the sound muffled by the door. He couldn’t pull his gaze from Anders’ face as he lay there, pale and still, one of Parcival’s hands pressed against his barely-stirring chest. Parcival’s head was bowed now, his arms trembling as he worked, focusing on two bodies at once - healing the heart of one whilst desperately trying to keep it beating and doing the delicate work of rebuilding damaged muscle to match the unblemished, strong heart of the other. As he watched, Fenris realised that what Parcival was doing - keeping a dying heart beating, rebuilding it even as he kept the blood flowing - went far beyond what he had done for Zevran. Parcival was an experienced healer who knew his craft well; he understood the body on a level that Fenris was only beginning to learn, and as he watched the First Enchanter he realised how far beyond him would have been his intention to repair Anders’ heart. He could only watch and hope.

Dorian uncapped another vial of lyrium and set it to Parcival’s lips; the mage drank without opening his eyes, barely aware of even the taste of it upon his lips.

Leto’s Dorian sat beside his Anders on the bed, also unable to tear his eyes from what was happening on the floor, though as Zevran’s screaming voice cracked he winced. He lifted his eyes to exchange a look with his mirror self, then as one they returned their gaze to where Parcival fought still to heal Anders.

Dorian had opened and fed another vial of lyrium to Parcival and Zevran’s cracked voice fallen mercifully silent in the hallway outside at last, and yet still Parcival’s head remained bowed in concentration over the two men. 

Then finally he stirred, lifting his hand from the sleeping Anders to rest both hands over the other Anders’ heart. Fenris stared sharply at him. 

“What are you doing?” he said. “He -”

“I have rebuilt the heart,” said Parcival, not opening his eyes. “Now I am strengthening it, and him... he is out of danger, but I have not yet finished.”

Fenris stared down at Anders’ unconscious face, and realised that Anders’ lips had lost their blue cast; the blond mage was taking slow, deep breaths now. Whilst still pale, he seemed to be merely sleeping very deeply rather than dying, his face peaceful and somehow looking younger than his years.

Finally Parcival’s hands fell away. “It is done,” he murmured. He swayed, then fell forward to collapse upon the floor at Anders’ side.

Fenris gently lifted his husband, careful to hold him close as he headed for the door. The other Dorian opened the door to find Leto keeping vigil with Zevran and Invictus. The Antivan was slumped between Invictus and Leto, unconscious.

“Parcival succeeded, he just needs to rest,” Fenris said as he watched them both, unsure if the Antivan would start screaming again. 

Invictus came up and brushed some of the other mage’s hair out of his face gently, glad to see him looking healthier.”I’ll bring Zevran, you bring him?”

Fenris nodded, and followed behind his husband silent as they got back to their room with Leto trailing behind them, opening doors and leaving them alone after getting both men settled in bed. After he tugged the covers up over them, he went straight for the whiskey.

Anders hadn’t stirred as Fenris carried him, the mage deep asleep. He had sunk into the bed gently, eyes still closed, sleeping peacefully and the colour finally coming back into his cheeks. Zevran by comparison looked utterly exhausted, dark shadows beneath his eyes and brow still creased in a small frown. They lay side by side, both deep asleep.

“Had to put him out after his voice cracked,” said Vic, noting the direction of the elf’s gaze as Fenris stood there with his glass of whiskey. “He thought Anders was dead. Went wild, screaming.” The mage’s eyes looked haunted and pained.

“I could hear him,” Fenris said as he glanced away from the sleeping men. He curled up in the seat in their large window so he could just be quiet and think, if Invictus left him alone.

He was still a wreck from their fight earlier; having his fear confirmed hurt more than if the Antivan had punched him instead. The elf knew he had no right to ask for comfort for something that was his fault; but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He wanted to just find a place to grieve, to let out his hurt alone; but he knew leaving while they slept would cause another row. So he drank & stared at the activity he could barely make out on the ground.

Invictus watched him for a while before approaching. “Hey.”

“Yes?” Fenris replied carefully.

“You stayed in there during his heart getting rebuilt, are you ok?” Vic asked as he put a hand on his love’s shoulder, only to have it shrugged away.

“No, I’m not ok, at all Hawke. I just want to sit with some whiskey and have some space,” Fenris replied sadly, almost as if he was on the verge of tears again. 

“I just wanted to comfort you...love.” He stepped away, stung but Vic didn’t have the energy to fight. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

“Ok Invictus,” was all he got before Fenris laid on his side to think about where to go with their marriage, and Zevran’s admittance and his jealousy. He hated it, but once he stopped being defensive, he could see that unpleasant sensation for what it was & he had to work through it alone. 

Vic took a seat with his drink & own thoughts running wild until he heard a soft snore from Fenris. “He’s going to regret sleeping like that later,” he said softly while pulling a blanket over the elf & making sure the windows were locked. Last thing he needed was Fenris falling out while asleep and breaking his neck. He took up a spot in bed and soon joined the others in deep sleep after a rough day.

**

Zevran pulled himself slowly out of dreams, unable to fully recall what it was he had dreamed of - only that it was dark and disquieting. He woke to the sounds of soft snores around him and a feeling of rawness in his throat; a bitter metallic taste upon his tongue. He lay there silently, identifying the sounds. He could hear Fenris - ah, over by the window; the elf appeared to have fallen asleep in one of Zevran’s favoured spots. He felt a mournful pang in his chest. He had no idea how the situation between himself and the warrior was going to be resolved - if it even _could_ be resolved. He had felt Fenris steadily withdrawing from him for months, and the fight seemed to have crystallised that.

He still loved Fenris. If yesterday’s situation had been Fenris lying there, dying, he knew he would still have fought against the others to at least be there with him at the last. The thought of Fenris dying made him physically ache inside. Had Fenris’ last words to him been to get out before dying, he would have been just as devastated. He had seemingly lost Fenris once before, during that final fight with Corypheus, and it had been the final catalyst that drove him to take poison. He could feel that same sense of hopeless despair now.

He would have left if not for Anders. And now Anders was gone, dying behind a closed door, and he had been denied the chance to hold his hand as he breathed his last.

A choking grief arose in his chest and he rolled onto his side, feeling tears prickle his eyes, hot and stinging.

Snores. Familiar snores. Ones that he had been lulled to sleep by so often. No, it was impossible, he was dead, it couldn’t be -

Zevran opened his eyes and stared at Anders, the mage sleeping peacefully beside him in deep slumber.

He sat up slowly, unable to believe the evidence of his eyes. Yet there Anders lay, unaware of his disbelieving stare. Hesitantly, Zevran stretched out a hand and laid it upon Anders’ cheek. It was warm beneath his fingers. He inched closer, and held his hand above Anders’ lips and nose and felt soft, warm breath upon his skin.

He couldn’t help himself; he laid his head upon Anders’ chest, and felt and heard Anders’ heart beating slow and strong beneath his ear. Stronger than he had felt in so many years. Strong, healthy and vital as it had been when they journeyed together in Ferelden; before Nevarra, before Orlais, before Adamant.

He couldn’t help it. He wept, silently; thankful tears, that Anders still lived. His head ached, pounding; he had been through such extremes of emotion over the past three days that he was exhausted, wrung out and almost driven past his limits. But Anders still lived, and for that he was grateful with every fibre of his being. Right now, that was one of very few bright spots in his existence. All joy in Fenris’ return had been darkened and tarnished by the elf’s turning away. 

His tears finally exhausted, he lay there, half-drifting back into a doze, lulled by the sounds of Anders and Invictus sleeping and the steady beat of Anders’ heart beneath his head.

** 

Fenris woke up to a crick in his neck, a sore back from curling up as he had and a headache from drinking as he had without dinner or water. He sat up to see Invictus out like a light on the edge of the bed; and Zevran cuddled up to Anders, the sight making him a little sad and jealous. 

He tried to run a hand through his hair but it was too tangled, further frustrating him. The warrior tried to get a change of clothes quietly so he could take a bath and a walk to clear his mind. He wrote a brief note, and turned to leave it but found golden eyes half opened to watch him.

Zevran blinked drowsily. He was more than halfway into dreams, but he followed Fenris with his eyes, too ennervated to move.

The warrior left the note on the bedside table, unsure what to say to the half awake elf or if he was about to go right back to sleep. He stood there, waiting to see what would happen. 

“Fenris?” murmured Zevran, his voice slurred and hoarse, scarcely much more than a whisper. “Where are you going?”

“I need a bath, and… to walk,” the elf replied slowly, hoping they would not fight again as his heart couldn’t take it. The Antivan seemed to be processing this slowly.

“Sorry,” Zevran murmured. “Didn’t... didn’t want....” He frowned slightly, torn between sinking back into inviting sleep or trying to rouse himself. Speaking was painful, but he didn’t want the other elf to leave. “Don’ ... wan’ fight,” he finally managed in a hoarse whisper. He gazed at Fenris, blinking sleepily.

“Nor do I, go back to sleep,” Fenris replied quietly. 

Zevran’s eyes slowly closed. “ _Si, carissimi_ ,” he sighed softly.

Hearing his pet name made Fenris’ heart clench, and he barely held back a sob before hurrying out of the room and towards the baths. He took his time in there, especially after he gave up trying to untangle his hair, wishing he’d never let it grow out. He dragged his fingers through it best he could, but spotting a pair of scissors made him decide to visit the Keep’s barber for an overdue visit. 

Getting his hair cut was one of the few things in his control, and Fenris thought it would make him feel better to have a say in a small thing. After getting dressed, he slipped out of the keep. He managed to avoid his family, even Meneris, as he made his way to the barracks. He grinned as he told the older woman how he wanted it, with enough length on top to make a pony tail, but asking her to buzz the sides and back so it would take a while to grow back. When he looked in the mirror, it almost reminded him of Dorian’s haircut.

“Thank you serah, I feel much better,” he said as he slipped her a couple silver.

“Just don’t let it get that bad again, I nearly had to clip it all off. Go on, I got soldiers to tend to this morning messere.” She winked at him as he headed off, feeling lighter. Soon as he left, Fenris headed for Krem’s office and a goal to get that troublesome double of his own Antivan out of the cell. 

He knocked, hopeful he wouldn’t run across his son, as he wanted to get this over with as soon as he could. “Captain Aclassi?”

“Come on in, Fenris; door’s open,” Krem’s voice called out. As Fenris entered the mercenary’s office, Krem was handing a sheaf of papers to his adjutant. “Tell the quartermaster that load of grain isn’t fit for feeding the horses - and get a better supplier of flour; that last load had weevil’s. We’re the Chargers, not some third-rate Marcher wash-up! Go on.” He waved her away then nodded to Fenris. “Something on your mind, Fenris? Callus is dealing with some of our newest recruits over by the training rings, if you’re looking for him. Unless Zevran’s dragged him up the outside of the Rookery tower again.”

“No Cremisius, I’m here about the Zevran in lockup. He’s going mad down there and hasn’t managed to actually kill our Zevran, so I am asking that he’s released to his people. I think there are mages working to get them home and I would consider it a favor to be called in at your discretion Captain.” Fenris had fallen back on old habits, standing at parade rest before the mercenary. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Fenris. I won’t pretend to understand the half of what’s happened, but I read the confession he made. My people haven’t yet finished their investigations into possible murders, but there’s some bloody disturbing stuff in there - and the blood magic’s the least of it. It’s like the worst excesses of a magister, it really is. I can’t just free him, but I’m willing to release him into your custody for now, with the understanding he’s confined to quarters. I catch him outside the keep then it’s back to the dungeons.”

“Understood, I’m delivering him to his version of me with the order. He’s...a problem alright,” Fenris replied. 

“Well, he _was_ ,” said Krem slowly. “But my lieutenant reports he’s been very quiet the past day.”

“Too bad he couldn’t be quiet when we went to see him,” Fenris remarked under his breath before straightening up. “Do you need to go with me, or can you give me orders for your men?” 

Krem was already writing as Fenris spoke; he scrawled his signature then affixed a wax seal with the Chargers’ insignia at the bottom and called for one of his men. “He’ll accompany you, Fenris, and see the prisoner handed over to your custody. He’ll be in chains but you’ll be given the key; you can release him once you get to your rooms. After that he’s your problem, not mine.” He nodded to Fenris.

“Thank you, Krem.” Fenris gave him a nod and headed off to fetch the troublesome elf. The guard that walked with him was quiet thankfully; he was already worried for what the other Antivan would do when he saw Fenris there to take him out of the cell. 

He was quiet as he watched them head down to the cell to get him, leaving him to pace as he waited. The time seemed to stretch as he paced, until finally he heard the clank of chains and then one of the guards was leading Zevran out.

The Antivan was silent, head bowed. His ribs were mottled with bruises, his wrists and ankles scabbed from the shackles about his hands and feet. He lifted his head briefly as he halted by the lieutenant’s desk, his eyes flicking up to Fenris but dropping before he could meet the taller elf’s gaze; it was enough for Fenris to see the black eye and fresh scrapes on his right cheek.

The guard handed Fenris the keys and the end of the chain. “Good riddance to ‘im,” said the guard. “He’s been nothing but trouble until he finally learned to keep his mouth shut yesterday.” 

The guard turned and headed back to his duties, leaving Fenris alone with the silent Antivan. Zevran’s clothes had been left in a neat pile on a table nearby; of the Antivan’s weapons there was no sign.

“Will you have his weapons sent to me later? I’ll keep them locked up and out of reach while he’s in my care,” Fenris asked before gathering the clothes under one arm while wrapping the chain around his hand. 

“They’re being kept as evidence in case of a possible trial,” replied the lieutenant, shaking her head. “They’ll be released to you if he’s found to be innocent. If evidence is found that his confession is true then I’ll send guards to bring him back here for the trial - though I’ll warn you; if he’s found guilty he’ll be hung.”

Fenris heard a faint noise from the other elf at the mention of being hung, but he didn’t react. “Thank you, serah for your help; hopefully this will all be done soon and he can be on his way.” He tugged the chain so Zevran could follow until he was out of the dungeons and in a place he could teleport them to Leto. It wasn’t out of kindness but a desire to drop the elf off and deal with his own issues. He put an arm around Zevran, and took them inside, outside the other elf’s rooms. He kept hold to the Antivan in case he didn’t take to it, but the elf didn’t react, to his surprise. He knocked, hoping someone was awake to take him off his hands. 

Zevran waited silently, his head bowed, shoulders slumped. The difference from the man he had seen such a short time before - less than two days - were remarkable; they may as well have been two different people.

The door was opened by Dorian, who blinked, startled. “Zevran? Dumat, man, what happened to you? _Venhedis_ \- who beat you?”

Zevran kept his eyes on the floor; if he heard Dorian’s words, he gave no sign. Dorian’s voice faltered.

“ _Am - amatus_?” he said tentatively. He may as well have been addressing a stone. At a loss for words, Dorian stepped back and held the door for Fenris to lead the elf in. As they entered, Leto was rising to his feet, frowning at the state of Zevran and the chains that bound him; Anders looked up from a book he was reading in a chair by the window, sleepy eyes focusing first on Fenris, then on Zevran as the tall elf led him in. The blond mage appeared barely awake.

Zevran stumbled in then halted as Fenris dropped the chain to fiddle with the keys. Slowly the Antivan raised his head, then blinked, his eyes going first to Leto, then back to Fenris, then to Leto again. He stumbled forward a few more paces, glancing between the two elves, a confused and then frightened expression in his eyes as his breath came faster. Abruptly he fell to his knees, head bowed, trembling.

“Dumat’s sakes… “ Fenris said as he picked the elf up to release his chains. “No one is going to hurt you here, no need to bow.”

“Fenris...he’s terrified, look at him,” Leto said quietly.

“Yes, I see that but I can’t get the chains off if he’s crumpled on the floor,” the other white haired elf said as he worked to release the blond elf and keep him upright. 

“My guess is he’s not been fed properly or had a bath while in the cellblock,” Leto remarked as he took in the state of his erstwhile lover. “Are you staying, Fenris, or will that confuse him further?”

“I’m going before I give in to the urge to punch him in the mouth,” Fenris snapped at his double before getting to his feet and gathering up the chains. “Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask you.”

As Fenris snapped at Leto, Zevran lifted his head and closed his eyes, as though expecting Fenris to follow through on his threat, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

“ _Vishante kaffas_ \- what in Dumat’s name is _wrong_ with you, Fenris?” exclaimed Dorian angrily, finally stirred to speak as he came forward to tug Zevran behind him; the elf stumbled and fell to his knees behind the magister as Dorian rounded on Fenris. “Look at the state of him! He’s _expecting_ to be hurt! You can see he’s been beaten, and you can’t just throw out a threat to punch him like that! What kind of monster are you to do that to him? What has he done to you?”

Behind him on the floor, Zevran was blinking up at Dorian, one hand lifting up hesitantly as if in silent entreaty to the magister.

“Pavus, stop yelling at me,” Fenris said quietly as he looked down at the broken elf. “He told the others about me sleeping with him before I had a chance to and it’s ...caused problems.” He knew it wasn’t the whole truth but he didn’t want to have yet another fight to start his day. “I’m going to leave so he can be with all of you and not see me and Leto together. I just wanted to ask you all not to mention me sleeping with any of you as I want to bring it up with them when we all aren’t falling apart. Anders nearly dying - both of them - has us on edge. It will likely be the end of my marriage, but I’d like a little time to tell them is all.”

“Maybe you should have been honest with them from the start, then!” snapped Dorian. “Did you think you would keep us all your sordid little secret, then? You think it fair to take out _your_ shortfallings on _him_? He did nothing wrong, and if all your little misdemeanors are coming back to bite you now then you can hardly expect us to keep them a secret for you! If any of them ask me, I shan’t lie for you - not after treating Zevran like this!” 

He gestured to Anders, who blinked. “And have you told them yet how you used Anders? Hmm? Have you told them how you fucked him whilst he was your prisoner, and then the next day had him suck you off under the desk like your own personal body slave? Did you tell them that, Fenris?” He glared at the elf, clearly furious now.

“You had sex in my bed?” Leto asked stupidly as he watched them, more stunned they dared use his room than Dorian’s.

“That’s not the point Leto,” Fenris quipped before turning on Dorian and advancing on him until he was chest to chest with the magister. “I did not use him, I asked for his consent and he was willing. How dare you think I could use him like that? After what I’ve been through as a slave! I asked, I made sure he could say yes or no to me. I’m a lot of things Pavus, but I will not use someone unwilling, not after I was used...raped by my master.” 

Leto pulled Fenris back and got between the two men. “Hey, hey...Fenris, step back and calm yourself!” He turned to face his lover. “ _Amatus_ , I think you need to explain just how much you care for Zevran now, this isn’t how you were when I left. You feared him more than anything aside from Vengeance, and now you’re threatening Fenris because he simply spoke poorly.” 

“I feared him before I realised how much of it was an act,” said Dorian, quieter. “Before I saw one of his own men using him like a whore on his own desk, and learned that he took punishment from you to spare me. And before I saw for myself just what Vengeance had done to him. He put himself in danger for us, was willing to risk death at Vengeance’s hands - and I believe that was in atonement for what Vengeance had made him do.”

Behind him, Zevran was staring up at him, a single tear running down his face at Dorian’s words.

“It was Fenris who pushed us together, and Fenris who broke down Zevran’s mask. He allowed me to see the man inside, to see the _real_ Zevran. And now Zevran’s reduced to this, he would lash out at him and make him a scapegoat goat once again - he’s every bit as bad as you were, and I shall not allow either of you to do that to him again.” Dorian glared at Fenris, then at Leto. “Zevran clearly expected to be punished when he entered this room, and you did that to him, Leto. You broke him, and he’s been trying to put the pieces back together since you left. And now look at him.” He stepped back and gestured at the kneeling elf. “ _Look at him!!_ ”

He turned his back on them as he gently coaxed Zevran to his feet then held him close. “It’s alright,” he said softly. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Leto watched them sadly, unsure what else to do. “I’m not going to hurt him Dorian, not anymore. I told you I wanted all four of us to talk but I guess you’ve made up your mind about me.” He turned away to sit and let them be alone, as much as they could be in the crowded room.

Fenris was still glaring at Dorian, the urge to strike the other man rising as he took in what he said, and was sure the magister would tell just to get back at him. He glanced to Anders who still looked half awake and confused by the fighting. He glanced back to Zevran then the magister holding him, curious as to what would happen next. 

“You’re being an ass again, Leto,” said Dorian, though this time without heat. “No-one’s made up their minds about anything, save that we are agreed that Zevran is not going to be harmed any further. So at least there’s one thing we can agree on.” He looked away from Zevran, and his eyes were reddened, the kohl slightly smeared. “As for talking, Anders is barely awake and Zevran hasn’t said one word since being dragged in here. I think any talk of where we go from here must wait until Zevran has been fed, bathed, and slept in an actual bed, and Anders is more awake. And maybe by then I shall feel less angry and more reasonable.” He glanced at Fenris. “And good luck fixing your marriage. I dare say you need it. Just remember it wasn’t I who broke it, or Zevran, or Anders.” He turned his attention back to Zevran, and coaxed him over to the bed to sit down.

“Dorian...please give him this one thing. You just said it was Fenris that opened your eyes to how I treated you, showed you the real Zevran behind the mask and got you together. You said yourself you’re being unreasonable, and I can see it. He spoke poorly, and took a chance asking us this. I dare say that after he leaves Fenris won’t come back to see us for a while anyway, lessening the chance of any of us telling his secret,” Leto asked quietly as he observed them together, and letting his gaze flick over to his double who’d gone stone still as well.

“He’d treat us as his dirty little secret,” said Dorian quietly. “Had enough of that when I was in Tevinter. Never thought Fenris would bring that all back again. But you’re right. I’m tired, I’m upset, and right now I can’t bear to look at him. Yesterday, hearing the other Zevran’s voice break as he screamed - watching Anders in such agony - now this, the state of - of - Leto, _look_ at him!” He gestured at the bruises on Zevran. “Look what the brutes did to him! I... I can’t, I just....” He pulled Zevran to him, holding the man close as he buried his face against the elf’s shoulder. 

Zevran lifted an arm to hold Dorian close as he glanced around, his eyes not quite meeting those of Fenris or Leto.

Fenris glared at them, his voice soft as he spoke. “You’re not the secret I was trying to keep, Dorian. They knew about you immediately, just not Zevran or Anders yet. I wish you all well, despite how this turned out. I’ll send food and wine for you all.” He gave Leto a nod and headed off to the practice yard, in need of hitting practice dummies until he could be around anyone else.

Anders glanced up at Leto. “That was all rather... melodramatic,” he mused. “What in the name of Andraste’s flaming underpants has been happening whilst I was asleep?” He rubbed his eyes and glanced at Dorian and Zevran. “Maker’s balls, he’s a mess. I’d better get to work, hey? No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

He got to his feet and crossed to the bed to sit next to Zevran, and set to work to heal the cuts and bruises. 

“At least someone is back to themselves around here,” Leto mused as he left Anders to work and Dorian to fuss over the Antivan elf while he got comfortable in the window seat with his own book he’d left there.

**

It was late afternoon by the time Anders finally stirred and opened his eyes. Vic had been awake for a few hours by then, having woken to find Fenris gone, a note on the bedside table, and Zevran asleep with his head resting on the blond mage’s chest.

Anders blinked at the canopy of the bed then lifted a hand to gently stroke Zevran’s hair as the blond mage tried to work out where he was, what the weight on his chest was, and why something felt different. He glanced around.

“Vic?” he asked, confused. “Where... what’s happened? The other Anders - did it work?”

“Yeah, he’s probably still sleeping it off if you just woke up. How are you feeling love?” Vic asked as he joined them on the bed.

“I’m not sure,” replied Anders slowly. “I remember looking down at the other me, feeling dizzy and falling - and now something feels different, my -”

He broke off as his eyes widened. Sitting up, he gently laid Zevran back against the pillows then lifted a hand to press it over his heart. “My heart. It’s... it’s healed... healthy, strong, but - but _how_?” He glanced to Vic. “I remember it hurting - this crushing pain inside and yet - it’s fine, no trace of damage at all!”

“Parcival did the same thing to you that Fenris did with Zevran’s leg. Copied the other Anders’ healthy heart - or rather, used it as a template to fix yours. It was close though, you were having another attack while he was working. But he managed it,” Vic said before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re well again love.”

Anders stared at Vic, and a smile slowly spread across his face. “This... this is fantastic,” he said. “I was afraid I wouldn’t have many more years with you all, love, and now -” He broke off and glanced around. “Except... Fenris. Where is he?” He turned to Vic, alarm replacing the look of happiness on his face. “He and Zevran - I hoped they were about to start talking, but then Dorian burst in - what’s going to happen? Did they talk, whilst I slept?” He glanced down at Zevran’s sleeping face. “Maker, he looks dreadful,” he added.

“No, I woke up to a note that Fenris needed a bath and a walk,” Vic said as he brushed blond hair away from the sleeping elf’s face. “I fear that Fenris might think he’s transgressed one time too many. He didn’t want to talk to me, even shrugged off a casual touch after we got you both settled in bed.”

Anders’ face fell. “Please tell me he didn’t leave his rings behind again,” he begged in a small voice. “I don’t think I could handle that again, healthy heart or no.”

“No, no rings left behind this time. But he fell asleep in the window after some whiskey. I don’t know if they will make it, love. I feel like I pushed us to this in a way, I could have spoken with him on the way back or waited until after I saw Zevran wasn’t so worked up. Now that he’s explained himself, I can see why he did it but I don’t understand holding the truth back from us. I worry he’s wanting to run again.”

“Zevran confessed to him straight away,” sighed Anders. “And at least he’d asked you and I first. I think Zevran’s been the most honest of us all - and I think that’s why he was so hurt. He was already agitated from everything else going on - it was clear, even before you spoke about the other Zevran. All Zev’s ever wanted is for us to be honest with him, as he’s been with us. And I’m as guilty of failing him as any.” He bowed his head.

“What do you mean?” Vic asked warily. “You’re the only one of us who hasn’t strayed love.”

Anders swallowed hard. “No, love,” he said softly. “Before Adamant... that first time. I never breathed a word - I felt too guilty. I went to the Warden’s tent to retrieve my armour and... and Nate kissed me. Touched me. He... I said no, but... I could have been firmer. Louder. I... I let him. His hand. I....” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry, Vic. So, so sorry that I never told you. Any of you. And each time you’ve said - Maker, I felt like the lowest worm for - I’m sorry, I’m a coward.”

“You...you...with Nate,” Vic said as he stared at Anders in disbelief. “Did he force you? If so I am going to go see him right now. If he didn’t force you...and you kept quiet all this time… I am going to be angry, and hurt and I’m going to need to walk for a long time to calm down. So, did he force you or did you consent? Either way, Nathaniel Howe is going to be very unhappy when I see him again.”

Anders slid his hands into his hair. “I said no,” he said in a small voice. “But I didn’t stop him.”

Zevran stirred and opened his eyes. “ _Mi cuore_ , if you said no and he did not respect that?” He sat up and met Vic’s glance. “My love, I think we both need to speak with Nathaniel.” He glanced to Anders. “Anders... you should not have kept this to yourself all this time, tormenting yourself.”

“Whenever we are done here, and can go home; I think a little side trip to Weisshaupt is in order,” Vic said as he considered what Anders had confessed. “Should we tell Fenris about this? I worry that he’ll go absolutely ballistic after how we’ve laid into him with the knowledge you’ve hid this for so long. I know you had your reasons, but I’m still unhappy about it love,” he added.

Zevran took firm hold of Anders’ chin as the blond mage gave a ragged sob. “Anders,” he said firmly, his voice rasping and harsh though his eyes were gentle. “You said no. It should have been enough. This is not like Vic, or Fenris, or even I; we went to another, all of us, and we lay with others with full intent. We knew what we were about. This - this was no affair behind the backs of Vic and Fenris; this was Nathaniel taking what he chose, and ignoring you when you said no. There is a name for that, and it is ra-”

“I enjoyed it though!” cried Anders as he stared at Zevran, his eyes full of tears. “Maker damn me - I said no but he did it anyway, and I - I came!”

“Love he forced you, this isn’t the same as my dalliance with Dorian, or Fenris sleeping with Belann or the other him. We even gave Zevran permission to sleep with Leto. What Nate did was hurtful, so please don’t feel ashamed, alright?” Vic pulled him into his arms to soothe him.

“Vic - he didn’t hold me down, or anything like that, he just - I _let_ him,” wept Anders. “I could have tried harder - I just said no, and... and... Maker, I’ve felt so wrong, and dirty, and... and I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s ok love, it’s ok. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Vic said as he held the blond, reassuring him he did nothing wrong. Anders was doubled over, sobbing quietly as all the guilt he’d been carrying for years finally came out. Vic and Zevran held him gently, the Antivan pressing soft kisses to Anders’ face.

“ _Mi cuore_ ,” said Zevran, his voice still scarcely more than a harsh whisper, “This was not your fault. It is nothing to need forgiveness for - but you have mine, if that will ease your heart? _Mi cuore_ , I love you. This does not change that. I only grieve that you have carried this guilt needlessly, my love.”

“I’m s-sorry, s-s-so, so s-sorry,” Anders gasped. “Should have told you. W-wish I had. Vic... I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright love, it’s alright.” Vic reassured him, just as the door opened and Fenris entered to find them comforting their other mage spouse.

“What’s happened?” he asked warily. 

Anders lifted his head to stare at Fenris, his eyes red with tears. The blond mage looked truly wretched and miserable, hunched over in bed between Vic on one side, and Zevran holding him on the other.

“What has happened is that Anders is blaming himself for something Nathaniel did several years ago,” rasped Zevran, his voice cracking slightly. “And it is not his fault, but he has confessed it to us.”

“Fenris - I’m sorry... I said no, but -” Anders started, but Zevran placed his fingers upon his lips.

“It is Nathaniel who will apologise,” the Antivan growled. “Never you.”

“Apologize for what? I hope its not what I’m thinking, because if it is? I am going to be incredibly unhappy _love_.” Fenris’ voice had gotten far too smooth and calm for how he felt, waiting on whatever it was Anders was going to confess.

“Fenris, please don’t be upset with him, he was coerced,” Invictus said as he approached the elf warily.

“Let him speak Hawke, because I need to hear it from him. And if it’s what I’m thinking, after you all have laid into me? I am going to visit Weisshaupt and then deal with you all when I’m back. So go on, please tell me what he confessed.” Fenris said as he brushed Vic aside, focusing on the tearful blond.

Anders drew a slow, shuddering breath as he gently pulled Zevran’s hand from his lips.

“It was years ago. Adamant, the first time. The other Wardens - I don’t know where they’d gone, but - but you told me I should spend time with Nate, hadn’t seen him in a while. And I wanted to go with you and Vic but - I let him lead me back to the Warden’s tent to fetch my armour. He, h-he said I seemed... tense. Wanted to rub my shoulders - seemed, I don’t know... harmless? Nate’s a friend. That’s... that’s what friends do? And then he....He kissed me. Pulled me into his lap. His hand was in my pants and... I said no. But he did it anyway, and I c-came. I think I passed out on one of the other cots afterwards. Kept it to myself, I felt... dirty.” He bowed his head. “I said no,” he repeated in a small voice. “I should have tried harder. I’m sorry.”

Fenris heard a noise that sounded like someone was trying to talk but couldn’t get the words out and realized he’d done that. He heard what Anders had said but he was stuck on how this had happened, how his husband had carried this with him all this time. He tilted his head slightly as he considered the blond, how he’d been laid into while Anders carried this with him. He was furious, more so at Howe, but he had some anger for the former warden.

He advanced on the bed, paused and turned to pace as he turned over the fact that Anders was assaulted by a supposed friend, a brother in arms, and never said a word. He focused on how the mage _still blamed himself_ even now, as he was moved to confess for whatever reason, now of all times.

He kept pacing, pausing to look at them then resume his circuit as he grew angrier at Nathaniel than Anders. He was coerced, and was sure it was his fault even now; he knew that feeling too well though he’d never had a chance to say no. But he kept turning over the news as he paced and didn’t speak.

As Fenris remained silent, Anders hunched in upon himself, fingers clenched into his hair, face pressed to his knees as he sobbed silently, certain the elf was about to explode at him any second. He could feel someone’s hand on his back, fingers gently stroking through his hair, but ignored them, his throat closing tight with tears. _This is it,_ he thought to himself. _This is the moment he’s going to leave._ And over and over, the thought went through his head: he should have tried harder.

“Fenris, would you say something? Look at Anders, your sile-” Vic cut himself off as the elf turned to stare him down.

“I’m going to murder Nathaniel, slowly. I’m not talking because I’m LIVID at what he did to Anders. He’s blaming himself even now. Give me a damned minute Vic, and I’m not going anywhere. Though… it cuts just a bit ...no, I can’t say that. Just … let me pace,” Fenris snarled as he resumed his circular path around the room as he thought of every painful way he could make Howe pay for what he’d done.

Anders lifted his head at Fenris’ words; his lips parted as if to speak but Zevran laid a finger on his lips again. 

“Hush, my heart,” the elf whispered hoarsely. “Stop blaming yourself. Fenris is not angry at you, but _for_ you - that you have blamed yourself for this all these years. No matter how you and he may have fought back then - or now - neither he nor Vic would have wished you to have suffered with this alone.” He took Anders’ chin in his hand again so that the mage was forced to return his gaze once more. “You did not invite this.”

Anders shook his head hesitantly, as far as he was able with the elf’s strong fingers still holding his chin.

“And you said no. You did not partake in this; did not lay your hand on Nate’s, made no word of encouragement? Your only response was the natural response of your body, yes?”

Anders shook his head to each question; at the last he gasped, “But - but I came, Zev, I - I didn’t move, didn’t do anything, but I _came_.”

Zevran frowned. “You are a healer, Anders. You know the responses of a body as well as I, and more. You know that a body will respond to stimulus. So, you came. What of it? That does not indicate enjoyment. It was a bodily function, as natural as pissing or shitting, and had as much meaning as them too, if you did not do it willingly!” he replied, his voice no less vehement for being little more than a pained whisper. Anders would have flinched at the vulgarity if he could have moved.

Invictus watched Fenris pace, unsure if the elf’s anger wasn’t simmering towards him if not Anders or Zevran. He saw the way his eyes went flat, and that unsettling quietness in his voice made him wary as he watched him. He knew what the elf had said, but he knew him well enough to know there could be a grain of resentment in him even if he said differently. 

Fenris turned at Zevran’s voice, approaching slowly and so Anders could see him. “I’m not angry with you Anders, please stop blaming yourself,” he asked in that same quiet voice.

Anders glanced up, and went pale. He knew that tone of voice as well as Vic did. He’d heard it so rarely, but it always struck a chill into him even when not directed at him. His mouth went dry, and suddenly he couldn’t have spoken even if he could have found the words.

Zevran was regarding Fenris warily, one hand still gently rubbing soothing circles against Anders’ back as he held otherwise still, his other hand lowered from the mage’s chin now to his shoulder. He could read the signs of imminent violence all too well, and like this, Fenris was unpredictable.

The taller elf regarded his Antivan husband in that dispassionate way he had about him when he was in a full on rage. But it wasn’t directed at any of them for once. “I’m not...I’m not going to yell or throw bottles Zevran. I’m angry but not at any of you, stop looking at me like that.”

“Love, you get angry on a silver so easily we’re all a bit worried. Besides, I’ve known you long enough to see when the wheels are turning and you’re still thinking on this even if you don’t say a word. I think we should talk, just us later,” Vic said with a glance to Fenris.

“Oh you know me so well, Vic? So I’m angry for Anders and ...no, you know what, I’m done fighting and arguing. I’ll just go be mad in the practice yard since you all think I’m a hair from exploding for something that’s not Anders’ fault anyway,” Fenris said before turning to look for his sword so he could work out his frustrations elsewhere.

Zevran had winced slightly at the bottle comment, and glanced at the bed covers rather than Fenris for a moment. But he looked up again as Vic spoke.

“He knows you better than I or _mi cuore_ ,” the Antivan whispered. “But I think we are all done fighting. We are all angry over this, and Nathaniel will pay. But for now, I think yes - we all need quiet. Peace, a way to deal with this in our own ways until Nathaniel can be dealt with.”

“You shouldn’t keep trying to talk, love,” said Anders almost absently. “What even happened to his voice, anyway?” His eyes followed the elf as Fenris strapped on his sword.

“Screaming for you because he thought _you_ were dying, I could hear him while Parcival worked,” Fenris replied testily; his temper was frayed and he let a hint of his jealousy slip because he was focused on getting his gear.

“Love...you sound...a way about that,” Vic said carefully. 

“Yes, I ...ask Zevran what he confirmed while I go practice. I’m done talking for now,” Fenris said before he left for the practice rings, happy to have his sword back in his hands instead of Leto’s staff. 

Anders had turned his head to stare at Zevran as the elf kept his gaze lowered, seemingly unable to meet his eyes.

“Later,” whispered Zevran. “Do not ask me this now.”

“I’ll ask you now, write it out if you have to but he sounded… hurt and jealous before leaving,” Vic said as he stepped away to get them wine. He returned with a small tray of white wine, chilled with a bit of magic.

Zevran had moved from the bed to take a seat behind the small writing desk in the sleeping area, next to the dressing table. The Antivan was bent over a sheaf of parchment, his graceful hand steadily filling the page as he detailed the conversation, cursing the perfect memory his Crow training had beaten into him when he were still a child. He could have wished for some touch of forgetfulness to blur the pain of that discussion, but it was all too clear in his mind’s eye.

He sat back and stared at the page as the ink dried. He had inscribed his thoughts of his awakening, in those moments before he had heard Anders’ breathing; the despair he had felt upon believing Anders dead. He could feel a touch of moisture on his eyelashes and frowned, dashing it away briefly.

He rose, laid the page upon the bed between Anders and Invictus as they sat together on its edge. Then he took up his own glass of wine and walked out into the main room, unable to watch their faces as they read.

“How bad could this be?” Vic wondered as he sat back and tugged Anders to him so they could read the Antivan’s neat writing. He read slowly, his expression shifting as he read over the details of their talk, what they had said and his heart broke for Fenris. He’d always dismissed the elf’s claims that Zevran loved Anders more but here it was in writing. He glanced aside to see if Anders reacted in a similar way. 

Anders’ face had regained some of it’s more usual colour as he’d sipped his wine, but as his eyes scanned the Antivan’s words he seemed to grow a little paler, his expression haunted.

“He thought me dead,” he said quietly. “He’d already mourned me once and he thought he was facing it a second time. Maker. What must have been going through all your heads? I’m so sorry, love, I-” He broke off as he read through to Zevran’s recollections of the discussion with Fenris. His eyes widened and his head jerked up as he stared towards the elf, then he stared at the page, rereading those paragraphs over again.

“But... I never... Maker, I never _dreamed_ \- Oh. Oh sweet Andraste.” Anders’ voice had dropped to a whisper. “I knew Fenris’ pulling away from us had hurt him but - this -” He closed his eyes. “Was this my doing somehow?” He turned to Vic. “Maker, Vic, I had no idea of any of this!” 

“I never believed him when he told me he thought Zevran loved him less. I always brushed him off as being ridiculous and dramatic, but there’s the truth of it. Though it’s Fenris’ own doing, you know that. I just feel bad for ignoring him, telling him it's ridiculous and he was right. Question is what to do when he comes back?” Vic said tiredly before leaning over to kiss Anders. “Let’s talk, all of us until he’s back and maybe he’ll feel like it when he returns, I hope.” 

Anders nodded, and glanced over to the elf. “Zevran?”

Zevran was setting down his empty wine glass; he placed it upon the table then held still for a moment before he turned and walked towards them, his head lowered, gaze upon the floor, as though wary of what he might read in their eyes if he looked up.

“ _Si, mi cuore?_ ” he whispered. He halted at the foot of the bed, one hand resting against one of the upright posts, eyes still lowered.

“Zevran... why did you never tell us?” said Anders quietly.

The elf lifted his eyes to finally meet his gaze.

“But I did, _mi cuore_ ,” he said, shrugging one shoulder as he gave them both a sad smile. “I told you. He could not keep hurting me, because there would only be so many times before I would no longer place myself in the path of his anger. Perhaps I never said so in so many words... but I have loved you with my every breath, every day we have been married, and before. And you have never hurt me or done anything to cause that love to diminish. And I have also loved Fenris, and loved him so dearly I would have died for him. I still would. But every time he hurt me, slighted me; every time he took his temper out on me, with no word of apology but that he had some excuse... every time, it was like a little piece of me died, and so... yes, a little piece of my love died.”

He glanced to Vic. “And I am so sorry, my love, that there has never been that strength of feeling between you and I as there has been between myself and Anders, or myself and Fenris. I would die for you also, and when Corypheus seemed to have slain you all... had I thought you yet breathed, I would have stayed my hand from the poison. But this... I am sorry. I do not wish to hurt any of you. But Fenris was yours long before I was ever his.” He turned back to Anders and lifted his free hand to stroke the side of Anders’ face. 

“I denied it to myself for years,” he mused quietly. “I watched you often in Vigil’s Keep. So many beds you were welcome in, even Solona’s but always I kept my silence. When you were lost leaving Kirkwall, I had to trust that Fenris and Vic would find you. I allowed Sebastian’s men to strike me, knowing he would follow a wounded apostate on a merry dance far, far away from where you might be found. I do not know when an infatuation became something more, but Invictus saw it long before Fenris ever did. And when I said I go where you go, I spoke the truth. My path lies with you, _mi cuore_ \- my heart. And I should never have let you go to Tevinter.”

Anders had stared up at him as he talked, open-mouthed, unable to look away. His expression was troubled yet stunned as the mage tried to take in what Zevran was saying.

“So now you see why I said if you take your ring off from Fenris, and leave that it would kill him. That to consider the consequences if you did that. I don’t even know what to do. Yes, Fenris has hurt all of us and I am not excusing him, but I don’t love him any less. Even when he thought we did, when he thought were all just biding our time to leave him after you and he fought, Zevran. I don’t love any of you less either, though we’ve had some terrible rows. I, the person he’s been with longest, who knows his heart better than anyone, ignored his words and his fear. How can I look him in the face now knowing this is true? I want us to all be happy again, but Dumat’s flaming ass… how can that happen knowing this?” Vic asked as he took his wine. 

Zevran sank down onto the end of the bed, one leg tucked up beneath him as he set his back against the bedpost. “I do not know,” he whispered, one hand absently rubbing his throat; all the talking made it feel raw and painful, like swallowing broken glass. “But I could not lie to him. He asked, and he deserved an honest answer. Should I then have lied, or said nothing when he had asked me so directly? I have never lied - to him, or to any of you.”

“No… but this is going to be a problem. The hurt in his voice just now... dammit,” Vic said with a sigh. “Again, I know he’s to blame for things between you but, we ...fuck,” he added as he gave up trying to find words for what he wanted to say. “If he leaves now, or distances himself, at least we’ll know why. I won’t like it but ...if one of you admitted you loved me less, I don’t know that I could not do the same.” 

“If I had behaved as Fenris has towards Zevran... I wouldn’t blame him for loving me less,” said Anders quietly. “If I had hurt you all as Fenris has hurt all of us - over and over? I would count myself fortunate that any of you still loved me at all.” He sighed. “What has happened to us that now Fenris is engaged in some kind of point-scoring here? Zevran must not love Fenris any less than he loves Anders, and Anders must love Fenris as much as he loves Vic and Zevran, and - Maker, what even is that? If it were you and I who had fought, Vic, would Fenris be working out if I were right to love him more than I love you? This is - this is wrong! Love is love! Zevran still loves him, he’s still _here_ \- he was still trying to reach out to Fenris, you saw that Vic - you _saw_ it!” He could feel himself growing more agitated, but it just seemed to keep flooding out of him.

“Look, if Zevran didn’t want to be with Fenris, why would he have stayed? Why didn’t he walk away when he thought I was dead? Why didn’t he try to persuade me to leave with him when you were all in the Fade? Maker, Vic, Zevran has had opportunity after opportunity to be alone with me and to put me first over all of you _but he didn’t!_ ”

Zevran laid a hand on Anders’ arm. “ _Mi cuore_ ,” he said softly. “You are getting upset again, and none of us have eaten. Yes, I was reaching out to him. I thought he wished things to be over. I asked him if he wished his ring back - that if he so hated the very sight of me so as to not be able to look me in the eye, I thought maybe he wished he had never given it to me in the first place. I wanted to feel him take my hand. I feared he would only touch me to take it. I do not know what I expected him to do, only that I felt I had lost him, and I felt such a pain in my chest, in my throat, that I could not breathe.”

“You... you offered his -” began Anders; Zevran shook his head.

“No. Merely asked if that was what he wished. I did not wish it. But had he said yes? Then... I would not have held him to me for the sake of vows which he himself has broken.” Zevran stared down at his hands. “If those vows mean anything to him still, then I will weep for joy to hear it - but I do not know. He is angry now for your sake, _mi cuore_ , but do not think he has forgotten that he is also angry with me. It is only that right now, he needs a space to himself.”

“Why did you do that?” Vic asked, as if he hadn’t just heard the elf’s reasoning. “Damn Dorian...not really, but his sudden arrival meant you didn’t get to finish talking and ...dammit.” Vic laid back and sighed in frustration. “I mean, I heard you, Zev, I’m just worried is all. We know when he gets in a spiral he does not listen, it's a fault of his, I know, but ...dammit.”

Zevran stared at his hands. “Since we married, we have always paired in the same way,” he said thoughtfully. “Have you ever noticed that, Vic? Always the same. You with Fenris, Anders with me. It is a pattern we followed from long ago - from the first, almost it seems. And always when we argue, he causes the fight, he leaves, and then you fall in upon his side - even when he has wronged you as much as the rest of us. And yet, after you were freed from Danarius’ spirit, I was the only one who would remain with you. I looked you in the eye first, even though at that moment I was walking on a leg broken during that fight.”

He looked up at Vic. “And yet I would willingly walk on a broken leg again if by doing so it would bring us together. I am looking you in the eye now, Vic, and I think that whilst we are all whole and healthy physically, in an emotional sense we have all been exhausted, we are walking on a broken leg, and we are all wondering if we dare look into someone else’s eyes for fear of what we might see there. And you are defending Fenris to me, and Anders is still in shock, and I am heartsick - and the one person we cannot resolve this without is currently slaughtering training ring dummies because he cannot slaughter Nathaniel Howe right at this moment. And it seems to me we have been in this place before. And last time we were like this, I told you I would not put myself through it again. What more proof do you need of my love, Vic, than that I am still here to be hurt once more? My love for you, but also my love for _him_?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “What do you want of me, Invictus?”

“I didn’t question your love for me, and I said that the fault is his in this; but he is my first love, and I feel bad that I ignored what he told me over and over. That’s what I said, Zevran. I want this resolved too; don’t turn this on my defense of him. I love him, and we’re all hurting, not just him. So tell me what to do then, what next, Zevran?” Vic asked calmly, unwilling to yell or start more fighting.

“If he told you this over and over, why did you not think to mention this to either Anders or myself sooner?” Zevran whispered. 

“Zev... don’t talk,” said Anders suddenly. “Maker, your throat - it’s a mess. Hold still. Let me try to fix this.” He moved closer, and lifted a hand. “May I?”

The elf opened his eyes and stared at the hand Anders held up. “Please,” he whispered. He closed his eyes again as Anders laid his hand gently upon the elf’s throat and began to heal his shredded throat, easing the pain and discomfort.

“Zevran is right,” he said quietly. “We’ve none of us eaten. Vic... if food hasn’t been ordered, would you...?”

“Because I thought he was wrong, that he was being overly dramatic, that’s why,” Vic replied before he stepped away to order food for them and get more wine. He sat in the window to think about what they could do to fix things - if they _could_ be fixed.

“Zev... why didn’t you tell me?” asked Anders softly. As the Antivan’s eyes snapped open and he arched a brow at Anders, he blushed. “Sorry, rhetorical question,” Anders added hastily. “Don’t try to answer that till I’ve finished.”

Invictus sipped his wine, content to let things be quiet until Fenris returned to the room.

** 

Fenris had gone to a little-used part of the training rings to take out training dummies with his sword, ignoring his magic even as he felt fire trying to rise with his strikes. He only stopped when he ran out of dummies to hack to bits, and when he felt himself getting tired. The warrior dropped his sword in the dirt so he could dump cool water over his head and try to catch his breath.

He didn’t want to go back in but he was sore, dirty and smelled after a couple of hours in the sun. Reluctantly he trudged back in to bathe and face the others, and eat. It was another hour before he opened the door to their rooms. He entered quietly, hopeful the others might be out or sleeping, but his luck was never that good.

They were sat around the table. Various dishes, some barely touched, showed that they’d eaten - or at least sent for food; Anders was pushing his fork around his plate, as he generally did when he couldn’t face the thought of eating, which didn’t surprise him. Zevran didn’t appear to have eaten much more however than the blond mage. Invictus’ plate was mostly empty; they appeared to have been sitting there in silence for a while.

Anders glanced up as the door opened and set his fork down; Invictus noticed the movement and turned to see Fenris standing in the doorway. Zevran’s eyes remained lowered, the Antivan slouched back in his chair as he toyed with a stiletto dagger much like the one the other Zevran had used to stab Vengeance through the throat with during the coup.

Fenris came in, got a glass of wine, and waited for someone to speak. He wasn’t hungry and the gloomy feel would have killed any appetite he may have had. As he sat there, he noticed a piece of paper on the table, covered with what looked like Zevran’s neat graceful script.

Anders cleared his throat, then blinked as three pairs of eyes looked up at him simultaneously. He returned Fenris’ stare. “Fenris, when Dorian came yesterday, you and Zevran appeared on the verge of actually talking. You were... holding him. None of us have any way of knowing what would have happened if Dorian hadn’t interrupted right then, but... but is there any way we can move forward? Can we talk this through now?” He glanced at Vic, then at Zevran. “Please?”

“What is there to say? You have the proof in writing that I wasn’t being overly dramatic when I told you how I felt, Vic. What do you want from me, all of you? I know the fault is mine but I’m pretty talked out and tired,” Fenris replied warily.

“As are we, love,” said Anders quietly. “I just need to know if you actually want to work to fix this though, because by your own words it sounds like you don’t.”

“I do, but I don’t want to take a chance on discussing my feelings. I just want to get blackout drunk and sleep until the heartache stops. So tell me what you all want. You know the truth now, so where to go?” Fenris asked.

“Why don’t you want to discuss your feelings?” Vic asked

“Because even if I state my own fault in this, give all the context or explain my side of it? I don’t think my feelings will matter if I speak them. So just tell me what you need from me,” Fenris replied. “Or not - I’m tired of fighting, so damned tired.”

Zevran lifted his eyes to finally stare at Fenris. “We are here precisely _because_ of your feelings, Fenris,” he said quietly. “If we did not care and they did not matter, I do not think we would be sitting here right now, yes? If I did not care about how you feel? If Anders, if Invictus did not care? Why should we continue to fight for a marriage we do not care about? Why should any of us fight to preserve a marriage in which the feelings of any one of us are disregarded?” He gestured at Invictus. “When did you last hear Vic claim that we don’t care about his feelings? Or Anders?” He scowled. “I will tell you. It is never, because we care - we _all_ care! And we would not be here if we did not care about yours!” 

He tossed his knife onto the table just in front of himself. “I care. I care far too much, Fenris. I care so much that I willingly have remained, every time you have hurt me. I care so much and that is precisely why you _can_ still hurt me! Because if I did not care then I would not feel as if my heart were being ripped in two!”

Fenris stepped back from the table, the elf’s anger making him jumpy. He was still not alright but he forced himself to calm down and turned back. “Very well, forget I said anything about my feelings. What do you need from me to make it work?”

Anders groaned and dropped his head onto his forearms where they rested on the table. “This is like the day before we left for Adamant,” he said, his voice muffled slightly by his sleeves. Zevran patted him gently on the back. Anders sighed, then straightened. “A sign that you want to make this work in good faith,” he said. “A sign that you actually want to make things work because Maker knows, right now Zevran thinks you’re just looking for a chance to walk out again, Vic is just sitting there saying nothing, and I feel like I’m sitting here playing referee and... Maker. Talk. Please. Give me something here - some sign that there’s anything worth saving? Someone? Any of us?” He looked around desperately.

Fenris rubbed his eyes in an effort not to lose his temper. “Yes, I want it to work. I don’t know what to give you as proof aside from returning and talking two minutes after returning here. I came back, didn’t I? Can’t that be enough for now?” 

Anders gazed at him sadly. “I wish it were,” he said softly. “But I can’t help but feel you came here because you had nowhere else to go. I saw your face when you walked in, love. You hoped we’d be asleep, or the room empty. And you’re still wishing it.” He glanced at Vic. “Maybe you should tell Vic to do your talking; he argues pretty well for you. But even he can’t tell what’s going on in that head of yours sometimes, love.” He looked back at Fenris. “But I know the look of someone who was hoping to be alone... and who was contemplating running away again.”

“Really? Was that called for, Anders?” Vic said before he poured himself some wine.

Fenris looked away as he tried to curb the angry retort that came to mind. “Can’t me saying I want it to work be enough? I’m trying! I came back yesterday, I could have left, I could have left my rings on the counter in Nevarra and just gone. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have come back here, Anders.” He wiped at his face as he fought against the angry tears and terrible things he wanted to say but curbed his tongue.

“Fenris...don’t cry, please,” Vic said as he tried to keep him from storming out.

“Why not? I feel like it,” the elf said roughly. “I just … I want things to be like they were but you know they can’t be, I just … Vic, why can’t I have just come back and at least .…” Fenris did cry then, out of frustration more than anger. He did care and he did love them but he didn’t have a tangible thing he could give them, some sign as he’d been asked for.

Anders sat back in his chair, his hands falling to his lap as he stared at them, twisting each ring in turn on its finger, one after the other and then back, over and over as he heard Fenris, heard the frustration. If he could have simply told Fenris a solution - some magical answer that the elf always seemed to think he should have - then he would have given it to the elf long ago. But all he had was his heart - and the elf had proven over and over that one, two or even three hearts sometimes wasn’t enough. He couldn’t help biting his lip; the situations, the words, they were the same, over and over. He had no answers. 

Zevran rose to his feet and slowly paced, one hand trawling across Anders’ shoulders as he glanced down at the rings on the mage’s hand. He didn’t glance at his own; he knew the feeling of them intimately. He turned and paced back. He finally halted behind Anders’ chair once more.

“Suppose we return to Nevarra,” he said quietly. “What then? How do you see us a year from now? Five years from now? If we put this behind us now - what do you see us doing? Can you even see an ‘us’? Or do you see it as you and Vic, me and Anders, in one house? Is that how you have always seen it?”

Fenris glanced up at the elf, angry at the question. “No, and that’s damned unfair to ask me that right now. It's not how I saw us. Right now? I don’t even know if I’ll get to sleep here tonight, let alone what can happen in a year. You all keep asking me for a sign that I want it to work, well I’m here dealing with these kinds of questions, not just taking my rings off and leaving. I didn’t have to be dragged back out of hiding to come and face you all - and that means nothing, I guess? I want it to work; what do I have to do Zevran, beg?” he asked as he stared at the other elf, at his wits’ end at the circular conversation. “Do you even want me in the same bed with you? Do you even want me back at the house in Nevarra once it’s fit to live in?”

“Stop! Just stop this, all of us. Fenris can’t give us something physical to prove he wants to stay, and neither can we. None of us can manufacture a thing to prove our love to each other. We married each other, and I want us to fix this, dammit,” Vic said out of frustration, slapping his empty wine glass off the table as he walked to the other part of their suite, hoping to calm himself before trying to end the conversation and not their marriage. 

Anders jumped slightly, startled, as the glass smashed upon the stone floor. Zevran however still held his eyes on Fenris.

“I expected only two things from you ever, Fenris,” he said quietly. “Your love, and the truth. And you lied to me. You lied directly to my face when I asked you. I asked you if you had bedded the other me, and you looked at me and told me no. And I believed you. So. You want to know how you can prove you really want this marriage to work? It is simple.”

He leaned forward and rested a hand upon the table as he held Fenris’ eye. “Never, ever lie to me again. Swear to me now, hand upon your heart, your eye to mine that there are no others, that there are no more lies, half-truths, nothing - that you will never lie to me again. Do this, and though my long dead mother may scream at me for being a damned fool son of a Dalish whore who should never have left Antiva for doing so, I swear that I will go back with you to Nevarra and we will make this work.”

His eyes softened slightly as he stared at Fenris. “Please. Do not let me regret this. I _want_ to be able to trust you, Fenris. It is killing me to know that you broke my trust, when I have only ever given you the truth.”

“I have one other thing to admit, though I’d not planned on it after I left because I thought things were over,” Fenris answered slowly. “While in the other Thedas, I was with the other Anders, after Vengeance was taken from him. He was the only person who let me be me, and not Leto. I asked his consent and he was willing - if you must, ask him once he recovers. I...I went to him because I was scared, and alone, and he was too. I even fell asleep to him talking to me, I’d gone to him after a fight with the other Dorian, and he knew, he knew right away I wasn’t Leto, and saw how upset I was and offered to listen. Unfortunately, templars thought he had done something to ‘Leto’ and I killed one of them. He ....we both were lonely and scared, he didn’t remember much after Vengeance was killed, removed...whatever you do with a demon. I’m ...I’d thought I wasn’t getting home, but he reminded me of home, he was...so like our Anders that I felt safe, and I asked, I didn’t hurt him, I didn’t take him unwilling, I swear to Mythal I didn’t. That is it, that is the last thing I have withheld and if its too much, I will go. But you said no more lies, no more half truths, so there you go. I apologize, from the depth of my heart and soul. But everything is out in the open now, I swear it upon my life.” Fenris finished, expecting them to be furious and to kick him out. Instead he felt Vic’s hand in his hair and soon he was staring at the brunet.

“Fenris Hawke...swear to me, your oldest and longest love that there is NOTHING else you’re hiding or I will take your rings myself and drop you off of Meneris’ balcony.” Vic forced him out of the chair and to his knees so he could stare him in the eye. “Well?”

“You... you slept with... with the other me?” Anders was staring at him. “You... Maker. Vic. Stop. Stop!” He was shoving his chair back and running around the table to stop him, but Zevran was faster still, leaping up onto the table and then throwing himself forward to stand over Fenris, one hand gripping tight to Vic’s wrist.

“Unhand him, Invictus,” said Zevran quietly. “You would force a man to his knees by the hair to swear an oath when he had not yet finished giving it to me first? I said I would hear him with his hand on his heart and his eye to mine. You will back away and you will give me this now. Is it really so much that I ask that your own anger will deny it?” He held Invictus’ eye with his own.

“Yes, I would. After all he and I have been through? After I advocated for him in his absence? Yes, Zevran I would!” Vic snarled as he stared down at the elf in anger. 

Fenris wasn’t fighting back; he knelt there, silent and trying not to panic in the face of Vic’s anger, and keep the ice he felt forming from freezing anyone to the floor. He realized distantly that ice came to him when he was scared, and fire when he was angry. Instead he looked up at Invictus, wincing as he felt a sharper tug on his hair. 

“Invictus. Endrin. Hawke.”

Suddenly Vic felt the heat curling around his hands abruptly doused as once more, Anders dispelled the magic of both men, his voice cold steel. 

“Let go of him, Invictus. You can let a man give an oath. It won’t kill you. But if you can’t? Then I’ll leave this here.” 

There was the sound of something metallic dropping on the table... followed by another... then another. Anders stood there. letting his rings fall to the table surface through his fingers one after another.

“I will put them on when you have calmed down and Fenris has finished, given his word to Zevran, and sworn to you and I both that there will be no more lies. And you and I and Zevran will do the same. We make new vows here tonight, or this marriage is ended, because I will not remain with any man who will not have the decency to let the other finish what they were saying. Not with an oath. Not with this.” Anders held Vic’s eye. “And you have no idea how much it hurts me to do this, Vic. But if we can’t? If we cannot promise each other a new start, complete honesty from this day forth? If we cannot do this now? Then we’re just going to keep hurting each other. This cycle will never end until finally one or more of us has the strength to break it.”

Vic let go with a rough shove, making Fenris hit the floor, and stared down the blond angrily. “So, give your oath then, Fenris.” 

The Tevinter elf laid there, slightly stunned and realizing he wasn’t being held up by his hair. He scooted to the wall and stayed there, finally looking to Zevran, unsure of himself.

Zevran stared at Fenris, meeting his gaze with his own. “You swear then, that this is all? This other Anders, the other Zevran, their Dorian - and no others? Hand upon your heart, this is the truth?” His tone was gentler now.

Fenris glanced at Invictus then back to Zevran before shakily putting his hand over his heart and swearing. “That’s all, I swear, I’m sorry.”

Zevran regarded him silently, then nodded. “As am I.” He crossed to Fenris, halted before him, then leaned up to brush a light kiss against the taller elf’s lips. “That was all I ever wanted, Fenris,” he whispered. “Just the truth.”

He turned and made his way towards Anders, his eyes on the rings, picking out his own among them with his eyes.

“Well? Are you going to swear to me and Anders, or lie there cowering?” Vic asked tersely.

“Invictus, I swear to you that’s it, I swear on my mother’s grave that’s it. Please don’t do that to me again!” Fenris asked as he tried to back away from the angry mage, his flight response kicking in at how furious Vic was. 

“Invictus. Enough,” said Anders quietly, his eyes on Fenris.

“He hasn’t given you his oath,” Vic replied as he watched the elf, furious still and hurt that Anders had pulled off his rings.

Fenris turned to Anders and gave his oath as well, hand over his heart and staring into the other man’s eyes. “I swear that is all I have to confess, I’m sorry. I won’t do this again, I’m so, so sorry!” he sobbed brokenly. 

Anders walked over to Fenris, leaving his rings behind him on the table.

“Yes, I dare say you are,” he nodded as he stared at the elf. “And he had no right to do that. We were all angry and hurt, and I’m still rather upset that you did this, Fenris. But violence? raising our hands to each other?” He turned and stared at Invictus and walked slowly towards him. “Dragging your _husband to his knees by the hair??_ Vic, have you lost your mind?” He gestured to his rings on the table. “I should not have had to do that! I should not have to physically step in to referee a physical fight between my husbands - the men I married! Were you truly so blinded by your anger that you lost sight of that?”

“In that moment, yes. I advocated for Fenris, I tried to help as we talked and then I find out he fucked yet someone else? Then yes, I lost my mind and saw red, Anders,” Vic replied calmly as he stared down the blond. “You won’t have to do that again, as long as he doesn’t lie to us as he just swore.”

Anders turned and walked away, pacing restlessly as he frowned. “Zevran said it was Fenris’ anger that was a poison - well, I’ll be damned but frankly yours will kill someone sooner, Vic,” he said. “Arden wasn’t even the beginning but -”

He turned and gestured towards Invictus. “I see you right now and I realise that you never really changed, did you, Vic? Still that vicious streak of cruelty and anger. What good is a man’s word if you bullied it out of him? Maker, Vic, you’re - look at you! How can you stand there, so calm, after what you just did? What’s next - will it be me you decide to drag around the floor? Or Zevran?”

He shook his head and resumed pacing. “Madness. Complete madness. I can’t believe this. I - Maker, part of me wishes I’d never opened my eyes this day than live to see this. The men I love - and this is what we’ve come to?” He was rubbing his forehead as he paced, a pained look in his eyes.

“Please don’t, Anders, I gave my oath from my heart - it’s ok, really! Please don’t yell, please put your rings on and sit with me, please?” Fenris asked from where he’d gotten to his feet but was still rattled as he stared at them. 

“I am not going to kill anyone Anders, and I resent that implication. I can be calm now that I have his oath and know he’s not going to lie anymore unless he truly wants this marriage over. Now, you said we all had to swear to each other, should I go next?” Vic asked as he glanced over Anders’ shoulder to see Fenris and Zevran giving him a concerned look, Fenris about a hair away from hitting the ground now that he wasn’t running on fear and adrenaline.

“You scare me, Vic,” said Anders softly. “Your rage scares me. Terrifies me, right now. In the few days that Fenris has been returned to us, this is the second time you’ve shouted at him like this; the second time I feared that you would actually attack one of us, the second time I’ve had to dispel your magic - you dragged Fenris to his knees, your hand in his hair, and because he gave us his oath you truly see nothing wrong here?” He looked up at Vic. “Do you truly think that?”

“I know I’m wrong in this, and unlike Fenris I’m not going to make it about my hurt feelings. I saw red, I got furious and I lashed out. He gave his oath and I believe him, and I think he knows better than to lie to any of us again. I love him more than anything, and you both said I love him to a fault, and I even tried to soothe thing over, tried just a bit to make you see it from his side and how I felt like a fool for not believing him; then to have him admit that he slept with all three of them? After all, so yes I got furious - I got so damned angry, Anders but I believe him, and I’m sorry that I lost my temper, and scared you; I will swear an oath to work on myself if it will help,” Vic offered as he kept Anders gaze on him, not even looking up when he heard the two elves speaking quietly. 

Anders ran a hand through his hair, his expression showing that he wanted to trust Vic - and yet there was still a look of alarm in the amber eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Your rage is - sweet Andraste, it’s like the Fist of the Maker itself, Vic. It’s terrifying, it crushes and it destroys and leaves one hell of a mess in its wake and - and I’ve been on the receiving end once, and I never want to feel that again. And what you just did to Fenris - I remember you doing that to him just with words in the past, but I never dreamed you’d lay hands on him. Not Fenris. Not like that. And I want to take you at your word; I want to reach for those rings but sweet Andraste guide me - I don’t know if I should, and it kills me to admit that.”

“Take the rings back, please, Anders,” Fenris asked quietly, his gaze wary as he looked between the others. “I swore truly to you, please take them back.” 

Vic uncrossed his arms and looked at Anders as if to to say _see_. “What do I need to say or do? I will swear an oath to work on my temper, and myself to not make any of you fear me.” 

Anders glanced away. “I don't know,” he admitted. “I... I need time. To think. Yesterday I nearly died, and today it feels like my world is falling apart all around me. I just need time to think.” He glanced to Fenris. “I believe you, love,” he added sadly. “I believe there’s no-one else. I trust you. I just need time to think.”

“Don’t go, please don’t go. I swore my oath in truth, please don’t go!” Fenris begged him as he approached with the mage’s rings in hand. “Don’t do this, I am begging.” 

“I’ll go, Fenris, I’ve scared him and it's clear he isn’t feeling safe with me here. I’ll go back to the house in Nevarra. Someone let me know when you want to see me again,” Vic replied as he started to call up a portal. 

“Fenris, I....” Anders stared at the rings. “I can’t wear these,” he whispered. He took them back in his hand and stared at them. “I just need time, Fen. That’s all. A night’s sleep and a chance to think - please?”

The elf’s expression crumbled as he turned away, before falling into a chair and sobbing. “I told the truth… why does this always happen? Don’t leave Anders, please?” he asked quietly as he felt the tug of the portal’s magic and felt it close. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Anders replied as he dropped into the nearest chair. “I just... wish I could start over again somehow.”

Zevran silently moved to stand beside Anders’ chair, one hand stroking through the mage’s hair.

“What will you do, if you do not take back Invictus and his ring?” asked the Antivan softly.

“I don’t know,” said Anders tiredly as he stared at the rings in his hand. “For the past eight years, I could never imagine a world in which Vic, Fenris and I weren’t together. I thought I would die so many times, and I honestly thought Vic would be the one to lay me to rest. He always seemed so... I don’t know, stable? Dependable? He was the rock. And now I don’t know what scares me more - the thought of life with him, or without him.”

“It’s ok, it’s what I deserved for lying, Anders. Please don’t leave us,” Fenris said before he looked up to see Zevran comforting the mage, but he said nothing. He simply made his way to the bed, and curled up on the far side of it, exhausted. His head ached and he felt like the cut on his face may have even re-opened when he was shoved to the floor.

“Where you go, I do, _mi cuore_ ,” said Zevran with a shrug. “I need no ring for that.”

“Thank you, love,” said Anders softly, and leaned in against Zevran’s leg as the elf gently stroked his hair. “I don’t even know what’s happened to Wynne. They took her to the College to recover after she brought them all through. She’s grown up so much, but I’m afraid to ask her what happened to her since we left her here and - and I think I’d rather not know. But what she did... reaching through to another world? I don’t think any other mage anywhere on Thedas... _any_ Thedas... has ever done that before.”

“My heart, you are tired. Perhaps see her in the morning? Pin and Marian will be watching her, I think.” Zevran glanced over towards the bed, his eyes picking out Fenris in the soft candlelight.

The other elf’s heart was breaking to hear Zevran offer to go wherever Anders went, after he’d confessed and sworn his heart to them. He turned over to look at them. “What of me? You’d leave me after I swore my heart, confessed all of my sins in that other world that broke me?” He got up and went for a drink, though he was exhausted and already hurting, hearing that they’d go anyway was too much. “You think Anders, on how its not just you two in this. I’m going to Belann’s tower, and getting incredibly drunk while you think.” He was badly shaken but didn’t want to stay after overhearing them.

“Fenris, I still love you,” said Anders gently, as he picked out Fenris’ ring. He stared at it in his palm. “But Vic has broken my trust badly. No matter how bad things have ever been between us in the past, we’ve never raised a hand to one another. And he raised his hand to you, Fenris. That’s a break of trust far worse, in my eyes, than what you did. You, I, Zevran; we’ve all been on the receiving end of abuse - I in the Circle, you in Tevinter, Zevran in the Crows. Vic never has. He’s always been a free man - and for him to raise a hand to any of us? Maker, have you any idea how long it took me to lose my fear that he would drag me off to the templars? Even after he’d fucked me several times. If Vic has raised his hand in anger once, he’ll do it again. Will he do it to me next? or Zevran?”

“You’ve forgotten when Zevran cut me after my trespass with Belann? How I lost myself when Hal was poisoned and I stabbed Zevran, though in anger at others, I still hurt him. How I wanted to throw both Dorian and Invictus off the Inquisitor’s balcony after he slept with Dorian? We’re all bad for each other it seems. You need to think? So do I. You know where I’ll be if you decide you want to say goodbye before you take Zevran with you.” Fenris was beyond his limits and all he wanted was to lie down and forget the day happened.

Anders swallowed hard. “Then maybe it really is time to end things,” he said quietly. “We’re poison for each other. And I was blind all along.” He bowed his head, his shoulders starting to shake, as Zevran squeezed his shoulder gently and watched Fenris in silence.

“After all this, you’d leave anyway?” Fenris asked in that same quiet voice he’d had earlier. Unable to believe Anders would say they should break up. “You...after I swore, and confessed to all of you, though ...you.…” He fell silent again, unable to believe what he’d heard for a moment before looking to Zevran. “So you’d go with him, no matter what? Why did I … why can’t you let what he did go? I lied, I deserved it for what I did. Just… let it go and let’s try again. Please don’t do this.” 

“Fenris,” said Zevran, still in the same quiet voice he had used all evening. “ _Carissimi_ Let it rest for tonight. Come find us tomorrow and perhaps all will not seem so ill-fated. For now? He is heartsick, tired, afraid, worried. What has happened tonight should not have happened, and you are also not in your right mind if you think you deserved to be treated like a dog. Had he not unhanded you, I would have struck him myself for that. So. You need sleep, I need sleep, he needs sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.”

“Will you even be here?” Fenris asked as he stared at them, sure they would leave the moment he was gone. 

Anders nodded, unable to speak, 

“We will be here, Fenris. I give my word,” answered Zevran.

Fenris was too heartsick to argue any more; he fully expected to return and find them gone, their rings left on the table. He didn’t want to leave but he couldn’t take the sight of them together without everyone together, and Vic at his side. He simply nodded before taking his whiskey so he could finish it and go.

Zevran watched him go, and sighed. “Come, _mi cuore_ ,” he said gently to Anders as he bent to gather up the rings. He set them on the bedside table, then slowly twisted off each ring from his hand one by one, leaving only Anders’ ring on his ring finger. Then Anders rose as Zevran set his other rings next to Anders’ on the bedside table before they both moved to the bed.

They undressed in silence before Anders extinguished all of the candles, save the one by his bedside.

Then Zevran made love to Anders, gently, tenderly as they both wept before they fell asleep curled about each other, both praying that the morrow would dawn brighter.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Invictus return to discuss the future, but things are still not easy between the four.

Fenris hadn’t slept well at all, his mind conjuring things to wake him from a fitful sleep - Anders and Invictus fighting, Zevran killing Invictus to save Anders and even what woke him, he himself killing Invictus or Zevran but never raising a hand to the blond mage. He’d meant his oath and seeing them together in comfort had been like a knife in his heart, after hearing Zevran offer to go wherever Anders went.

It was what drove him from the room to the space where he’d left Anders and Zevran. He entered quietly in the early morning light and stopped as he saw them tangled together. The room no longer smelled of sex but it was apparent they’d been together before sleeping. He glanced at the bedside table to see both sets of rings together and his heart broke. He took his rings, the ones he’d given Zevran and Anders and palmed them, sure their decision was made. He left the room as quietly as he came, picking up whiskey and food on his way back to Belann’s Rest before locking himself in and grieving the loss of his loves. He wasn’t sure he could stay with Invictus, not after pushing both Anders and Zevran away. 

While Fenris became friends with a bottle, Invictus was working on repairs to the house; it was a mess, and the rooms needed to be rebuilt, whether or not he got to stay with the others. He considered what had transpired, but he knew himself well enough to admit when he was wrong. Maybe he was still the cruel man that had led Kirkwall for a while, who turned other mages over; or maybe he’d had enough and snapped. Either way, he wasn’t sure what the day would bring, he just hoped someone made a decision so they could move on or sit up and grieve. 

Eventually he grew tired of cleaning, pacing, and waiting. He returned to find Anders searching frantically for something, crawling on hands and knees on the floor and Zevran trying to calm him. Ellowynne was drawing wisps from the Fade which darted hither and thither, helping her father to search for whatever had been lost. He leaned against the wall as he watched the other mage finally despair of finding whatever it was he had lost. Invictus observed, curious as to when they’d notice him. 

Anders sat on the floor, clutching his hair, near-hysterical as he stared around him at the floor. “Maker - I _can’t_ have lost them! Where can they be? They must have fallen - no, I have to find them, I _need_ to! what if he comes back and I don’t have them? What will he say??”

Zevran knelt on the floor beside him. “Hush, _mi cuore_ \- we will find them! Look, even now Wynne is calling up wisps to -”

He broke off as he glanced around and saw Invictus standing near the door. He rose to his feet and stepped in front of Anders as his eyes narrowed. “So,” he drawled softly. “You have returned, eh?”

Anders glanced up to see Invictus; he stared at him, finally managing to find his voice. “I’ve - I’ve lost Fenris’ rings. Mine and Zev’s. They - they’ve gone, I must have dropped them - I’ve searched and searched, and I can’t find them!” He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. “They’re gone. I don’t know how.”

“Father,” said Ellowynne quietly. “I don’t think they’re here. Not even the wisps can find them. I think Fenris must have taken them back whilst you slept.”

Anders sat there, his head bowed, arms wrapped around himself. “Then... he’s chosen,” he said in a low, dull voice. “That’s... it. It’s over.”

Zevran stared down at him, then knelt down next to him and drew Anders into his arms. He stared at Invictus over Anders’ bowed head.

Vic returned the elf’s stare sadly. “Maybe ask him, if you know where he is? He didn’t stay here apparently, which I’m sure didn’t help him.”

“He said he would sleep in Belann’s Rest,” shrugged Zevran. “He took whiskey with him. We slept soon after. We found his rings gone perhaps two hours ago.”

“Maybe ask before you jump to conclusions?” Vic said as he examined his own rings, curious that he found Zevran had removed his as well. “If he came in early, saw both your rings in a pile, what impression do you think he might have gotten? I would have thought _your_ decision had been made since you were still wearing your rings when I left, Zevran, after all its not as if any of us take them off to sleep.” 

“You left. He left. Anders remained. So I wore his ring,” replied Zevran steadily. “I will not leave him.”

“Alright, but did you tell him to go? After confirming you love him less, and he is either asked to go or goes on his own; comes back and finds your rings off too? All I’m asking if if you would confirm with him versus jumping to a conclusion I could come to as well and I’m not as emotionally volatile as he is,” Vic concluded as he glanced back at his rings, saddened at what had happened.

“He left,” replied Zevran. “We did not tell him to go. He would have been welcome to share the bed with us but instead chose to go sleep with his bottle with ghosts for company. So. What was I to think, Invictus? You are here to talk but he is not. That speaks too, eh?”

He glanced down at Anders, who remained silent, his head bowed. “ _Mi cuore?_ ” he asked softly, but Anders didn’t stir.

“Did you ask him to stay, to offer it?” Vic said quietly before he glanced out the window. “I’d offer to fetch him but, after yesterday that may not be the best idea.” 

“No,” replied Zevran. “But we did not tell him to go, or ask him to leave.”

Anders rose slowly and moved over to the window. He sat on the sill, then drew his feet up, wrapping his arms around his knees as he leaned against the glass, head resting against the pane, eyes closed.

“Would you get him Zevran? I don’t think Anders is going anywhere for a while. Or I can take my chances on trying to get him to return here?” Vic said as he let his gaze return to his rings. “One more thing, if he came in and found you two together asleep, and if it was after lovemaking, and he already knows you love him less? That probably didn’t help him feel like there was a chance still. I know how I’d feel, but I’ve slept and have a clearer head this morning. If you’ll listen, I’m happy to talk and put this nightmare of the last couple days behind us.” 

Zevran had risen to his feet; he glanced to Ellowynne. “Sit with your father, my daughter. I shall return.”

“ _Si, mio Zio_ ,” she answered as she made her way to a chair near the window. She sat and gazed up at her father, but Anders remained still and silent.

Zevran glanced back at Vic. “If he is drunk, I will leave him there,” he warned. “We will get no sense from him if he has addled his senses with drink.”

“That’s fair,” Vic said as he took as seat, still fiddling with his own rings while he waited.

Zevran nodded. With a last worried look back at Anders, he departed for Belann’s tower to find the other elf.

He took the steps two at a time, leaping nimbly over fallen steps and gaps in the stone as he climbed, before silently scaling the ladder at the top. He paused just below the hatch leading into the final room and listened carefully.

Fenris was awake, and unfortunately sober as he sat there thinking, turning things over in his mind of what he’d do after things ended. He thought about returning to mercenary life, or maybe begging forgiveness of Aeolus and trying to live on the sea, anything that would take him away from the heartache he felt.

Zevran pulled himself up the last few rungs and crouched just beside the hatch. “Fenris,” he said quietly. “Are you drunk or sober?”

Fenris looked at him, glaring at that being the first thing he was asked. “Unfortunately sober, and morning to you too.” 

Zevran rose to his feet and strolled to the window. Resting his back against the glass, he folded his arms and tilted his head to one side. “If you were drunk then there would be no point in talking,” he replied.”But since you are not? Then morning to you, Fenris. Whether it will be a good morning, we have yet to see.” A brief, mirthless smile flickered across his face then vanished again. “Invictus has returned to talk. Anders could not find your rings and was distraught.”

“I took them, I came back earlier and found you two cuddled together, sleeping soundly like nothing happened. You couldn’t wait to forget us then, take comfort in him, and throw your rings off as well?” He knew he sounded bitter and jealous, but at this point, Fenris figured things were decided so why hide it. 

“Throw? Hardly,” replied Zevran, his voice taking on a decidedly cool air. “Invictus left. You left. We did not ask either of you to go, but you both chose to leave. So. I kept his ring on because I will not leave. But now you have taken your rings, and he believes that you have made your decision. If he is correct? Then I will leave you now and trouble you no longer. If he is not? Then come back with me and tell him so yourself.”

“Neither of you tried to stop me from leaving either,” Fenris snapped as he grabbed the rings from beside him and rose. “It hurt, it hurt so much to see you like that, to see you in that way. Seemed to me you both made _your_ choice last night. So if you are asking me to go just to tell me in front of him, just stab me in the heart now - it will hurt less.”

There was a flash of anger in Zevran’s eyes and he took a step towards Fenris. “So, you think I should have - what, Fenris? Let him cry himself to sleep alone? Stood and watch him fall to pieces? I love him; I swore on the road to Adamant that no matter what, I would follow him! When he fled as a tiger in the Arbor Wilds, it was I who followed! I, who risked his claws and his teeth when he did not know himself! Should I, then, have stood back and not comforted him merely to salve _your_ feelings when you would rather drink with ghosts and wallow in self pity than stay! Do you even hear yourself, Fenris? The pettiness in your voice? Always, it is we who must run after you, beg you to stay when you have ripped us apart! You did it before Adamant, when you removed your rings and resented us for pleading with you to stay! _Brasca_ \- I tire of this! I tire of your selfishness! It is your selfishness that has done this - _two weeks!_ ” He snarled as he stepped closer. “Two damned weeks, Fenris! Could you not keep your dick in your pants for two weeks?” He stared at Fenris, panting, angry tears running down his cheeks. “I love you. But I will not take this from you. Not like this. If you have any love left for any of us, then come now. But I will not beg.”

He whirled on his heel and strode for the hatch.

“I didn’t ask you to beg, Zevran Hawke,” Fenris said quietly as he stomped out the fire angrily, uncaring that he was barefoot. “I have admitted my fault in this over and over the last two days, but I forgot myself and allowed my jealousy to show through. It won’t happen again,” he finished with a final, vicious kick of ashes to spread them. He turned and stared at Zevran with that same detachment he fell into to protect himself, hoping things were done soon.

The Antivan dropped through the hatch to the floor below, not looking back as he headed for the stairs, coldly furious as he strode. He took the stairs almost at a run, ignoring the loose stones that rattled under his feet. He was half-blinded by his tears, and in his haste he failed to remember a missing step and suddenly he was falling.

He threw a hand out to catch himself, and more stones were coming free; he pushed himself off the wall and leapt for the other side of the staircase, too intent on surviving the fall even to swear. 

He finally managed to check his headlong fall after plunging almost two stories and winced as he stumbled to a halt against a wall, holding still as fragments of stone clattered down the broken stairs to rattle around his feet. When all had fallen silent, he straightened slowly and inspected his hands. They were scraped and bruised, bloody in places; several nails were chipped, his fingertips bleeding. He could feel blood running down his cheek from a scrape, and his right shoulder and hip ached. Nothing felt broken however.

He braced his hand against the wall and gasped for air as he waited for the rush of adrenaline to ease, leaving him feeling weak and shaky afterwards. Then he straightened slowly and walked down the last flight of stairs, sober and aware of how reckless he had been. His hair was full of dust, his clothes smeared with it.

He walked slowly back across the courtyard, ignoring the stares of the various mercenaries as he went. He walked up the flight of stairs to the keep’s entrance slowly, and made his way towards Anders’ rooms. He glanced up as he drew closer and saw Fenris waiting. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there; the other elf must have teleported, he guessed.

Before the other elf could speak, Zevran gestured to himself. “I fell,” he said quietly, and grimaced. “I was a fool and missed my step. Perhaps I should have broken my damned fool neck, eh?” He shook his head, and then regretted it as the movement caused a lance of pain through his already-aching head. “Do not worry, I shall be sure to make it clear this was not your doing.” He turned to the door.

Fenris stared at him, wanting to be angry at the other elf but he just felt hollow. “It would be tragic if you had died Zevran, I’m relieved you only have some scrapes to show for the fall.” He wanted to pull him close and check him over, but after their talk, he didn’t think it would be welcome. “They will assume it was me before you speak, so let’s get this over with.” He curbed himself from grabbing the Antivan to check him over; instead he looked him over as he waited for him to open the door.

Zevran halted, one hand braced against the wall, his head bowed; and then he turned and slumped against the wall, sliding down to sit upon the floor, and put a hand to his head. “A moment,” he murmured. “The room is spinning. I... have not fallen like that in quite some time. I had forgotten how unnerving....” He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes closed, and chuckled weakly. “I am glad your son did not see that. It would have been quite embarrassing, no?”

Fenris ignored the pang in his heart at the mention of Callus and knelt with a hand out. “May I attempt to heal you? I ...must touch however, as I am not as good as he is.” 

“He?” echoed Zevran as he opened his eyes. “Ohhh... Anders. Yes.” He closed his eyes and gestured to Fenris. “You may touch me.” He sighed. “I have been such a fool,” he murmured to himself.

The Tevinter elf ignored his comments and focused on healing the cuts he could see, and how he knew Zevran should be. He did what he could as he called wisps to repair pulled muscles and eased away bruises. He sat back after he’d done what he could for the former Crow, hopeful it was enough. “How does that feel?”

Zevran opened his eyes and stared at Fenris thoughtfully. “Much better,” he replied. “I... thank you. You did not have to do that but... I am grateful. I was fortunate not to break a leg - or you should be standing here wondering what had happened, eh?” 

“Despite things, I...still care,” Fenris admitted quietly. “I let my fear and jealousy dictate my words when you arrived. I apologize,” he added as he looked away again, unable to look the other elf in the eye.

“Would you help me up?” asked Zevran quietly. “I find I am still shaken.”

Fenris gently helped him to his feet, careful with his hands as he opened the door and led Zevran in. 

Anders was still sitting on the windowsill, curled up with his eyes closed, as though he hadn’t moved since Zevran had left. Ellowynne looked around then leapt to her feet as she took in the dusty and dishevelled state of the Antivan.

“I fell,” he answered before she could ask; Invictus was turning and frowning, but Zevran made his way to the drinks cabinet, reaching for the brandy to steady his nerves.

Fenris took a seat and fell quiet, unwilling to look up at Invictus or anyone else. He felt the rings in his pocket, a heavy reminder of all he stood to lose.

Vic glanced between them, unsure of the cowed way Fenris seemed to be still and the shakiness of the Antivan. “Do you still wish to talk? Or do you need time?” he asked finally.

Zevran downed a glass of brandy swiftly, his hand still trembling slightly. “Two floors, I fell,” he said as he brushed dust and small fragments of stone from his hair. “All because I was a fool and reckless.” He glanced over at Anders. “ _Mi cuore?_ ”

Anders finally opened his eyes, gazing dully out of the window, not really seeing anything. “You both came back, then. I lost your rings, Fenris. I tried to find them, but... I couldn’t.” His tone was one of hopelessness. “I... don’t know what to do. What to think. Zevran stayed. But....” He sighed, then finally looked round at them. “Wynne, love, would you... leave us? For an hour.”

She rose to her feet. “Yes, Father,” she answered quietly. “I’ll return in an hour.” She glanced around at them all, her eyes full of questions, before she moved to the door and left them, closing the door silently behind her.

“You didn’t lose them Anders. I took them when I was here earlier, it seemed your decision was made when I saw both sets of rings lying there. They are in my pocket if you’ll ever have them back,” Fenris said dully, his gaze on the floor. He felt disconnected from things, like it was a dream or he was watching others but he wasn’t there. He thought he should be worried about feeling that way but couldn’t scrape up that much emotion.

“Wynne thought that might have been what happened,” sighed Anders. “You... didn’t have to go last night, you know. You could have stayed.”

“How was I to know that Anders? Neither of you said anything when I said I was going, and after all the fighting, I couldn’t have taken asking to stay and being told no.” Fenris dug the rings out and set them on the table, glancing at his own hand where all three rings remained. 

“So what is it to be? I have offered to work on myself, swear an oath to do so, and apologize. If that isn’t enough, to let me try after yesterday I don’t know what else to say or do,” Invictus said as he fiddled with his rings, expecting them to be off the minute anyone said they were done. 

Anders turned slowly to face them both until his back was to the glass. “Fenris, you said when you returned yesterday that all you wanted to do was get blackout drunk,” he said. “And you grabbed the whiskey last night and said you were going to Belann’s tower. What were you expecting? Me on my knees, begging you not to leave me, us, as I did when you left your rings behind? Is that going to happen every time, then? Because Maker, we’ve had so many years of this now. The thought of this happening again?” He gestured towards Zevran. “He’s tired of it. I’m tired of it - and Andraste’s flaming knickers but I’m sure you two must be, too. But you’ve made promises before not to do this again, Fen - and here we are yet another time. And you’re both staring at me expecting me to tell you what you can do and - for fuck’s sakes, _I don’t know!_ ” He threaded a hand into his hair and sighed. “I don’t know,” he repeated, softer. “I don’t want to lose you both. But I don’t want to keep going through this either.”

Fenris kept his gaze on the floor as he replied, tears almost falling as he spoke. “I did not expect you to beg Anders, neither of you. I swore the oath you asked for, and I want it to work. I didn’t manage to get drunk, not even close. I had nightmares, that’s what brought me back so early and led me to see you both together. All I can offer is my heart, an apology and a oath to you all. We’re all hurting. Just let yesterday go, I lied and deserved what Vic did, just ...please can we move past it?” he asked quietly.

“You didn’t deserve that Fenris,” replied Invictus. “You know that. I knew that once I wasn’t in a towering rage. No one expected you to beg Anders, and I came back to talk. But we’re going in circles, again. I will offer the same as Fenris, my heart, an apology and an oath, taken on my mother’s grave to make this work. You know what Leandra means to me, I do not offer that lightly,” he added as he dashed away tears as well, worried for the way the Tevinter elf sounded. 

“Shall I swear on my mother’s grave as well?” asked Anders with a small, sad smile. “I at least know she has one, even if we couldn’t find it, eh, Zevran?”

“ _Mi cuore_....” said Zevran sadly as he set aside the brandy bottle and crossed to him. Anders lifted a hand to stop him.

“No... it’s alright. I... I think I’m at peace with that. Or will be. It’s neither here nor there though.” Anders stared at the floor. He drew a slow, shuddering breath, then looked up. “Alright,” he said quietly. “One year. I’ll give us one year. One year in which Fenris promises not to run away again, to work and try and _make_ this work; one year in which Vic promises to work on his anger. One year for Zevran and I to try to heal and put this behind us. Does that sound fair? If we’re still like this in one year, then we give the rings back and agree it’s over. If we still want to stay? Then we retake our vows, as we did before - and this is behind us. Agreed?”

Vic didn’t like the time stamp on working things out, but he knew if he objected it would mean the end now. He raised a brow at the other mage’s declaration, thinking on it for a moment. As he thought, he heard Fenris agree, almost too quiet for him to hear.

“Agreed,” the elf repeated as he sat there, focused on a spot on the floor as he listened.

Anders glanced to Zevran.

“You already know what is in my heart, Anders,” said Zevran gravely. “Agreed.”

Anders lifted his hand, picked out Zevran’s ring and slipped it back on his hand. He glanced over at Fenris. “Can... can I have your ring back, love?” he asked in a small voice.

Fenris gestured at the rings solemnly, and nodded. He was choked up, and couldn’t speak if he tried. 

Zevran picked the rings up, studied them for a moment then held one out to Anders. As the mage slipped it back onto his hand, Zevran did the same with his own. Then Anders looked up at Vic, his last ring in his hand, a look of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Invictus?” he said in that same, small voice. “Do you... do you need more time?”

“No… I’m not thrilled with a timer on things but it is what it is. I agree,” Vic said softly.

Anders slipped the last ring back onto his hand, then glanced to Zevran. As the Antivan slowly did likewise, Anders bowed his head then dropped his head into his hands and drew another shuddering breath.

“Thank you, I didn’t want things to be over like this,” Vic said as he watched them all, but stayed put as he waited for someone else to make a move first. He knew he was at fault and had scared them, but he was concerned for how he’d betrayed and terrified Fenris once more; and hated himself just a bit more than usual. He watched his oldest love sitting there looking lost and afraid.

Zevran stared at Anders, clearly wanting to go to him yet hesitating as he stood there, in an agony of indecision. Anders was sobbing quietly, whether in relief or some other emotion it wasn’t clear.

Invictus came over to Anders and rested an arm over his shoulder, careful not to startle the other man. “May I hold you?” he asked with a glance to Zevran and a meaningful nod towards the white haired elf. Anders said nothing, but after a moment he leaned in against Vic and rested his head against him, still sobbing.

Zevran watched Vic for a moment, glancing between the two mages, then slowly approached Fenris and dropped down to sit cross-legged by Fenris’ feet. He glanced up at him. He paused, swallowed, then very softly said, “Am I still... your _carissimi_?”

“I...I don’t know right now. I want to say yes, but the part that’s still hurting wants to say no. Am I merely Fenris to you now, am I yours still?” Fenris replied quietly, wishing he had just said yes but he had sworn no more lies, or half-truths.

Zevran smiled sadly. “You never stopped being my _carissimi_ ,” he replied. “And that is what hurts the most. But I will not say the word if it hurts you more. I tried to say it - before Dorian came. I tried _so hard_. But I could not breathe; I could not make my voice say it. My heart, my throat - they felt I would choke of grief. But I tried, Fenris. I have never stopped loving you.”

“Neither have I, my love has never lessened for you but I’m hurting Zevran. Give me a little while, to glue my heart back together,” he whispered softly, hating each word as he admitted his feelings. “The other you… called me that, it angered me to where I stabbed him because I missed you so much, hated that he used that term so flippantly. I still miss you,” he finished.

Zevran stared up at him; without realising he was doing it, he had lifted a hand to his throat as Fenris spoke, unconsciously pressing it over the place where Fenris had stabbed that other Zevran. “Was that when you found your magic?” he murmured.

“Yes. He almost died then, and it’s when he admitted dying in Dorian’s arms would not be the worst way to go. He infuriates me, and attracted me as well. Much like you when we first met, but that’s not a story I can speak of now, not when I am hurting so much.” Fenris looked at him briefly, then glanced at the floor again. “I’m sure you do not wish to hear of him anyway.”

Zevran gave him a lopsided smile. “Oh, no, _car -_ ” He halted and stared up at Fenris uncertainly. “Forgive me. I will try not to use it until you say I may. But... yes. I still wish to see him. But not now.” He licked his bottom lip briefly. “May I... kiss you?”

Fenris glanced at him and wanted to say no, but he missed the other elf. Sex was the last thing on his mind, and he wanted to just lie down and cry as Anders was if he was honest. He finally nodded yes, and closed his eyes.

Zevran stared up at him, studying his face, the myriad little tells about him, and sighed. “No. You do not wish me to kiss you. I can see it in your face. I am sorry. I... I will not, then. When you are ready, then I will kiss you - but I will not press myself upon you now.” He frowned slightly. “I am no Nathaniel.”

He glanced away, then slowly got to his feet. He glanced over at where Anders was no longer weeping, merely curled up against Vic with his eyes closed, one hand curled loosely into the other mage’s tunic. Then he turned and walked over to the bed, letting the curtain fall closed behind him. Sitting on the edge, he pulled his boots off slowly then set them carefully to one side before he stretched out on his back on the bed and stared up at nothing, his hands resting upon his chest.

Fenris eventually moved to the window seat, resting his head against the glass and staring out over the courtyard, his mind refusing to rest as he tried to calm down. To realize things weren’t over and he still had all of them as his husband. Eventually his head dropped to his hands and he wept quietly in relief. 

Vic would have gone to the elf but he was held fast by Anders’ grip on his tunic. “Do you want to lie down?” he asked quietly.

Anders opened his eyes and stared over at the bed, where Zevran lay unmoving, his eyes still fixed on nothing. “Zevran is....” He tailed off and frowned slightly. “I don’t think Zev is feeling right,” he murmured. 

“Let’s go lie with him yeah? You go on, I’ll be there in a moment,” Vic said as he glanced aside to see Fenris curled up away from them, nothing the way the elf’s shoulders shook and the hitched breaths he could make out.

Anders rose, one hand braced back against the window, and then clutched at Vic to keep his balance as the window unexpectedly swung open. “Vic, I thought this window was locked?” he said, a little shaken. He’d been leaning against it for well over an hour earlier, then sitting with his back to it as they talked. It was rather unnerving to realise it could have swung open on him at any time. He restrained the urge to lean over and check exactly how high up the fall would have been from; the view from his windows was familiar to him, and he knew it was at least a twenty-foot drop below onto hard-packed ground.

“I did lock it,” Vic replied warily as he noticed how Fenris was leaning away from them and tried not to panic in case the other window was unlocked as well. He reached over and gently touched the elf’s shoulder, hopeful he wasn’t still jumpy. 

“Fen? Fenris?” said Anders. “You... you didn’t unlock any of the windows earlier whilst we slept, did you?”

“No, I didn’t go as far as the windows,” Fenris replied roughly, as he tried to wipe his face dry and unfold himself from the position he’d folded himself into. He winced as he felt how his foot had fallen asleep, and in trying to straighten up, he tipped backward, the window falling open and him right out of it.

“ _FENRIS!!_ ” Anders screamed as he threw himself forwards, one hand outstretched just a hair too late to touch the elf’s hand, his last view of the elf as he dropped from view being Fenris’ eyes open wide in startlement.

Anders threw himself down, half hanging out of the window, horrified, his hand still outstretched as if he could somehow arrest the elf’s fall, and he screamed again. 

“Fucking hell, if he dies I’ll murder him for being stupid,” Vic breathed as he turned and bolted out of the room to where he hoped the elf would land. He heard the startled screech as he slammed through the door, hoping his love’s changes would mean he wouldn’t die on impact.

Fenris stared up at Anders as he heard a brief scream of his name, then suddenly he was dropping like a rock, the ground rushing to meet him as he pondered his bad luck, all in the short time he actually fell. When he landed, he heard something, maybe several things snap before the sky dimmed and he wondered if he was going to die.

Anders stared down at Fenris, horrified, even as he felt Zevran’s hand upon his shoulder, the other at his belt as the Antivan grunted with effort. He hadn’t realised how close he’d come to tumbling after Fenris as he leaned out; Zevran was checking him from falling further. “ _Mi cuore_ , for a slender man you are not light,” the elf panted.

Anders was still staring down at Fenris. Then he closed his eyes and threw out his magic, willing it across the span of the fall, sending out healing to the elf as Zevran held still, realising what he was doing.

Invictus raced out to the crowd gathering around the fallen elf, panicking at finding him still and bloodied from landing in hard packed dirt. He reached out with his what healing he could do, terrified Fenris’ injuries were fatal. “You...fuck, you took years off our lives with this. Maker, Fenris, open your eyes, come on!” he begged as he felt injuries across the elf’s body, including a couple of broken ribs,a punctured lung and cracked skull. He looked up to see people gathering. “Get a stretcher and healers down here, NOW!” he screamed as he went back to work.

He could feel Anders’ magic at work within the elf already; as he spared a brief glance upwards, he could see Anders hanging out of the window, his eyes closed, one arm hanging down as though he could still somehow draw Fenris back. He could see Zevran braced, holding Anders back from falling out after the other elf, the mage oblivious as he threw himself into healing Fenris. Already the crack in Fenris’ skull was closing, the ribs realigning beneath the elf’s skin, the hole in his lung sealing, the lung slowly healing and reinflating as the elf drew a pained breath then groaned.

There was a swirl of dark teal skirts and then Ellowynne was there beside him, adding her own healing gifts to his and those of her father. “How... how is he not dead?” she breathed. “How did he not break his neck??”

Invictus had taken Fenris’ hand in his and was brushing a hand over the elf’s face, hoping he’d open his eyes soon. “Hey, come on love, wake up please?” He watched as the elf’s eyes fluttered and finally half opened.

“Am I dead?” Fenris asked before he rolled to his side and coughed up blood. “Going to be sick.” he muttered before throwing up the blood Anders had shunted from his lungs. 

Above them, Anders let his magic continue to flow towards the elf until he felt the final bruises disperse, then he let it go, opening his eyes slowly to stare down at the elf below. “Zev...” he murmured. “Zev, I thought he was dead....”

On the ground, Invictus mirrored his mage husband without realizing it. He helped Fenris sit up and asked him if he knew who he was, where he was as he held the elf close. As he got answers, he got to his knees and tried to stand with the Tevinter elf in his arms. “Can you get up love?”

“Yeah...I should be dead. I’m a freak, Vic...shoulda died,” he slurred as he got up slowly with Vic’s help and started to stumble back into the Keep. “Should have died..better for you all,” he said before falling silent. 

As they started to make their way back, they realised how large the crowd was that had gathered around them - most of them staring at Fenris and murmuring to each other, though a few were pointing back up at the window above them; Ellowynne was trying to push people aside and get them to clear a path.

Vic finally bellowed at people to get out of their damned way as he struggled to get the tall elf back into the Keep and their rooms, his fear ramping up at the infrequent murmurings from Fenris about death and peace. He managed to get him into their room and on Anders’ bed before his own strength gave out. He slipped to the floor, shaking as he realized they were safe.

Over by the window, Zevran was crouched on the floor next to Anders, who was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall just below the window, the mage’s eyes closed and his face pale. Zevran was patting his face and calling his name gently. As Vic dropped to the floor and exhaled shakily, the Antivan cast a worried glance in his direction.

Ellowynne hurried in and hastily closed the door before she sprinted across the room to her father’s side. She pressed a hand to his chest, glowing blue. “Father! Father, hang on, it’s -”

She broke off, looking confused and startled. “Father? Your heart - it’s....”

“It has been healed,” said Zevran quietly. “He is well; he has merely fainted. He did not eat for the past two days, nor today either. He had no reserves left, and healing Fenris from that distance has drained his strength a little.”

“But... I don’t understand, he -” Ellowynne blinked. “Wait. Is this why First Enchanter Parcival has been sick in his rooms for the past three days? It was _he_ who healed Father?”

“Just so,” Zevran nodded.

“ _Zio_... you both wear your rings again,” she said, quieter, as she glanced down.

“ _Si_ , my daughter,” nodded Zevran.

“Thank fuck for that,” Vic breathed as he made himself get off the floor and plopped next to Fenris. “He… thought we’d be better off without him, he kept going on about death and peace. I ...don’t know how he survived, Mythal’s changes or not - but what he said terrifies me.” 

Fenris was awake but he didn’t move, didn’t even turn his head at Vic’s words. He barely remembered what he’d rambled upon waking, but he didn’t want to argue with anyone so soon after reconciling. Instead he laid there and pretended to sleep.

“And Anders wished he had not awakened,” replied Zevran sombrely. “He had known his heart was failing, and he did not expect ever to awaken.” He was aware of Ellowynne’s look of fear at his words. “When we all turned upon one another, he wished he had not. And yet, you all heard his scream when he thought Fenris should die. The whole of Skyhold heard, I think. Even if Fenris might doubt _mi cuore’s_ love for him, or mine? His screams told the world of it.”

Zevran closed his eyes. “And I did not even see him fall. I barely halted Anders’ fall straight after him. And I would have screamed too, but I had not the breath.”

“I thought I was coming to collect a corpse; when I felt him still struggling to breathe, I could have wept for joy but I was scared,” Vic said as he brushed dirt off the elf’s face. “I worry about what will happen when he ventures out again, the way people whispered about his fall, the things he said about being a freak,” he added as tears fell silently and he held Fenris’ hand.

“I heard them too,” said Ellowynne. “The ones who weren’t pointing and talking about his husband fainting to see him dead there. They had no idea Father was healing him.” She glanced at Zevran. “ _Zio_ , when did my father faint?”

“It was when he saw him stand, with Invictus’ help,” said Zevran quietly as he glanced back at Fenris. “When he knew he was out of danger.” He frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing as he was silent a moment, then he gave a low chuckle. “ _And you are listening to me, are you not?_ ” he added in swift Antivan-accented Tevene. 

Fenris turned away and hid under the blankets at Zevran’s words. He still ached a bit, and he just wanted to be quiet. 

“Love? How do you feel?” Vic asked.softly. 

“Like a freak, you heard them. I should have died, I ...wish I had,” Fenris admitted before curling up further and wishing they’d leave him be.

“Fenris… come on love, you frighten me when you speak like this,” Vic said as he tried to get him to turn over.

Anders stirred slightly, and Zevran turned back to him. “ _Mi cuore_? Anders?”

The blond mage opened his eyes and looked around slowly. “What happened? Why am I on the floor?” he murmured, confused.

“Father, you fainted after healing Fenris,” said Ellowynne. “You -”

She got no further as the door suddenly burst open and Pin and Callus ran in, Marian and Garrett at their heels. 

“Papa! Where is Papa?” exclaimed Pin.

“Cal and I saw it from the training ground,” panted Garrett. “Maker, thought Cal was going to pull off his father’s trick and teleport clean across to him through sheer willpower alone. Persuaded him to fetch Pin instead. Cast a portal from the College to here.”

Fenris sat up slowly and looked at his children warily. “I’m here, banged up but here,” he said to them.

Vic got out of the way before he was bowled over by the elves in a rush to their father. “Easy, he was pretty hurt.”

Pin was staring at her father, looking both relieved yet angry. “I was half out of my mind with worry when Cal told me what he’d seen,” she said as she approached the bed then halted, putting her hands on her hips. “And that only a day after he told me of what you’d done! Dumat, Papa, I have no idea what I feel right now! But I’m glad you are alive - though, _venhedis_ after a fall like that? I cannot think how!”

“After what I did?” Fenris said slowly as he turned to Zevran and then Anders, and finally Invictus. “You… told my children? You.…” He felt his face run hot with shame before pulling the covers over his head and telling them to get out.

“I didn’t tell them anything! I wouldn’t do--” Vic turned to Zevran and Anders, unsure which had told Callus and Pin of their father’s infidelity. “Did you have to tell them? Really?” 

Anders blinked dazedly. “I haven’t told anyone anything,” he protested weakly.

Zevran glanced at Callus. “Callus is no child,” he said quietly. “He had every right to know what had his teacher so distracted that he nearly missed a handhold whilst climbing. So yes, I told him. And it was only natural that he tell his sister.” He didn’t look in Fenris’ direction.

“He’s still Fenris’ child, and that was bad enough to know and deal with but you could have not told him _that_ for Dumat’s sake!” Vic said tiredly. He felt Fenris shifting under the cover to get away from them all and he heard the choked sob even from where he sat. 

“No, he is Fenris’ _son_ ,” said Zevran coolly. “He is not a child. He was not a child when I had him freed and brought out of Tevinter. He was not a child when I began training him. And if a grown man asks me why I made a mistake that could have resulted in a fall that would likely have broken my neck, he has a right to know that his master was grieved to know how his husband had lied and betrayed him. The man has a right to know what his father had done.”

“Enough!” Fenris said as he untangled himself from the covers and stalked out of the bedroom. He was furious, and humiliated as he heard the elf speak. He glared back at Zevran, before taking a seat at the smaller table in the suite as he tried to calm himself. 

Callus followed his father out and sat with him, a hand out to steady him. “Papa, you know I’ve never been a child. You know this, why are you so angry?” 

“ _He didn’t have to humiliate me to you,_ ” Fenris said to him in Tevene, his accent coming out in his frustration. “ _We just salvaged things and now I find this out,_ ” he added as he tried to calm down.

“ _I don’t know why I was even surprised,_ ” snapped Pin back at him. “ _After all, your own three husbands have never been enough for you so why should I not be surprised that you did it there as well? Dorian and Hal here - so, should I ask how many there, or shall we just assume the worst? Two weeks, Father! Seriously?? Dumat! And you dare take it out on Zevran for telling Callus instead of lying to him? You have no right to take your temper out on him!_ ”

Fenris felt himself go still and cold as he heard his child dress him down, and he stared at Pin as she spoke. When she finished, he just stood up and walked out, not even slamming the door as he replayed her words, the mirror of Zevran’s not long before. He had no aim, he just kept going, even as people stared at the elf, shocked to see him up after his fall. He kept going out of habit to the valley that he used when he needed to be alone. It was the final straw on his tentative hold on his feelings. He just felt empty as he shifted and took flight from his valley. 

Back in the room, there was an uneasy silence. Pin was staring around at the others. Callus looked both angry yet also confused. Marian and Garrett looked uneasy, like they had stumbled into somewhere they didn’t belong. Zevran’s eyes were on the floor.

Anders spoke into the silence. “Pin. Callus. Marian, Garrett.”

“Me too, Father?” asked Ellowynne. Anders nodded. 

“Even you too, love,” he said. “I need you all to leave us, please.”

Ellowynne got to her feet, dusted off her skirts and moved to the door with Marian and Garrett. 

“Master -” began Pin but got no further as Anders shook his head at her. She swallowed any retort she might have made, glanced to Callus, and they left the room silently, Callus closing the door as quietly as he could behind them.

“Help me up, please, Zevran,” Anders asked. Wordlessly, the Antivan helped him up off the floor then stood there, his eyes on the floor.

“ _Mi cuore_ , I am sorry but -”

Anders held up his hand. “Zevran... I love you. I love you dearly. But right now I’m very angry, and I need you to keep silent. I know you didn’t mean this to happen - and I’m guessing this must have happened whilst I was asleep and... hiding from everything. But you told Callus, and whilst I’m not faulting you for that I think you’ve just ruined everything we have tried to save between us and Fenris.”

He made his way toward the bed, then turned and sat on the edge. “I have no idea what we do now,” he said softly. “I’m not going to run after him. He’s likely either hiding to nurse his anger or gone flying, and whilst I can probably manage to take the form of a raven again I frankly wouldn’t trust him not to treat me as a winged snack. And I rather doubt I can turn into a dragon. Well, not without a lot of practice, anyway. So. What do we do?”

“I don’t know. He kind of checked out, I could see it on his face. Unless one of us goes to Nevarra and hopes we can find that ring Dorian gave us and we try to call him back? He was humiliated love, and reminding us that they aren’t children was a low blow Zevran. I think of all of us, he knows that,” Vic said tiredly as he fell back on the bed and tried to think on how they could fix things.

“Does he?” said Zevran flatly. “He treats them as children. He calls his daughter - a married woman, no less - his ‘little girl’. He infantises them. He does not respect his son as the grown man he is, able to make his own decisions. And he would have me lie to them to spare him the embarrassment of admitting what he has done. And so we see him do what he has always done - run away instead of accept the consequences. He has flown as a dragon rather than talk to his children as adults.” He shook his head. “It was no low blow. It was only the truth.”

He glanced back at Anders, then at Invictus. “We must wait until he chooses to return, and then we must wait until he chooses to speak. Presuming he actually does wish to.” He moved to the window seat, set his back against the window frame and his foot against the opposite side, and pulled out his long dagger to begin sharpening it, one eye to the sky out of the open window.

“Zevran...my mother called me her little boy for ages, even when I towered over her and she still worried about me and Carver when we left on the expedition. He may not have had them as children but to him, they are still his children. Give him that much, please? He’d just spent two weeks with a version of Pin who hated him. Its not like he doesn’t let them live their lives or calls them childish names all the time,” Vic said as he started to strip off and paused. “Can I stay?” he asked warily. 

“We are wearing your rings,” said Zevran, not looking up. “So yes, you may stay.”

Anders was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor, but at Zevran’s words he nodded. “Yes, you can stay, Vic,” he said faintly.

“Thank you,” Vic replied as he pulled off his boots and shirt and fell into bed with a sigh. “I need a nap.” 

Anders rose slowly to his feet. “I think I’m going to go for a walk,” he said quietly. “Alone,” he added, as Zevran got to his feet; the Antivan sat down again, slowly. “I’m not going far,” Anders went on. “I just want to think for a bit. I’ll be back in a while.” He departed quietly.

Zevran frowned, but took up his blade again and returned to sharpening it, though his strokes were slower now, the elf also in thought. Finally he rose, sheathed his dagger and tucked away the whetstone, and fetched his boots from beside the bed, sitting on the edge to tug them on.

“You leaving too then?” Vic asked as he felt the bed dip behind him.

“Does it matter if I come or go?” replied Zevran quietly. “You wish to sleep, after all.”

“That wasn't what I asked,” Vic replied as he turned to stare at the elf. “Stop avoiding the question.”

Zevran stilled. “I am not avoiding it,” he said quietly. “But if you are sleeping, then where I choose to be is irrelevant, I think. But to answer you... yes. I am going to the Rookery.”

“Carver and Rowan are likely still working to untangle the evil there and fix the Veil. Maybe let them work. Unless you mean to stay there again?” Vic replied a little tersely.

“Maybe they cannot fix it because they are looking in the wrong place,” replied Zevran. “Or for the wrong cause. No, I do not intend to stay there. But you and Anders both had this vision and I mean to see what you have seen.” He rose to his feet and headed for the window.

“I wouldn’t do that but suit yourself,” Vic said as he watched the elf go. “While you’re gone, perhaps you can think on this question for me. Aside from what Fenris has done to us, think on why you are so much harder on him than Anders or I. Don’t answer now, I just ask based on what I’ve seen the last few times we’ve fought over him. If I can’t sleep, I’ll go searching for my wayward dragon,” Vic said tiredly before trying to get comfortable.

Zevran glanced back at him, then climbed up on the windowsill before turning and reaching out and up for the top of the window frame; then swiftly he climbed from view.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran returns to the Rookery and regrets it. Leto receives a very unpleasant retribution.

The Antivan scaled the wall of the keep swiftly and easily, finding toeholds for his feet in the sun-warmed stone walls as his fingers reached for the edges of window sills or cornices of carved stone. As he climbed, he angled over towards the high Rookery walls before steadily scaling the tower.

As he climbed higher, the shouts of mercenaries in the training yards far below became fainter, the harsh cries of the few ravens that still came to the tower clearer. He focused on the burn of his muscles as he pulled himself higher, absorbed in what he was doing - where his toes could find somewhere to perch, where his next handhold was. He noted absently the stone that had almost caused his downfall and led to Callus demanding to know where his attention was, instead of on his own safety; he reached for the handhold just above it, strong fingers gripping the rain-worn stone.

He reached the roof and pulled himself up to sit there in the warm late summer sun. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes as he scanned the horizon all about, looking for any sign of dragon wings. Far below, his keen eyes picked out Anders walking out of the main gate slowly, in the fashion of someone who had no clear destination in mind. Zevran lifted his gaze again to look around at the mountains.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention; he turned his head in time to see the white dragon soaring, rising upon a thermal then banking to slide out of it before wheeling to catch another, the sun gleaming off white and silver wings. Zevran watched as the dragon turned and then dove only to spread his wings, catching another thermal to rise before slowly gliding back towards Skyhold.

If the dragon were aware of the diminutive figure of the Antivan on the roof of the Rookery tower dar below, he gave no sign, gliding on towards Belann’s Rest before backwinging neatly to curl about the broken top of the tower.

Zevran sighed, then turned and began to downclimb until he could drop down onto the balcony of the Rookery. He glanced around, but his quarters appeared empty. Walking silently into the main room, he trawled his fingers along one of the empty raven perches, senses alert as he glanced around. Then he stealthily made his way to the bed, listening out for any sound of Carver, Rowan or their templars.

He halted at the bed, and stared down at it. The bedding was rumpled where he had lain in it the last time he were here; as he moved around it slowly, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He reached down and touched it, but felt and saw nothing.

Frowning, he sat down on it, then sighed. Whatever it was that Anders and the others had seen, it eluded him. Huffing a sigh of frustration, he flopped over on his back -

\- _Leto hung over him, a demonic grin upon his face as he raised the whip again, and Zevran tried to lift his hand to stop him but found, to his horror, that he couldn’t move his arms. Glancing to the side he saw a shackle clasped fast about his bare wrist. He looked back up at Leto, eyes widening as the whip whistled towards him. “Leto, no, stop -” he shouted -_  
  
\- _Pain. Pain blossoming across his back. He was bound at wrists and ankles, face down, and his back was aflame. the whip struck again, and he arched his back with a scream -_   
  
\- _He stared down at the girl. Her eyes were grey and lifeless, her blood upon the blade, his hands - he could taste it, taste the blood, the scent heavy in the air as he looked up at the sound of chanting. Anders was sketching a glyph with the girl’s blood and he could see the walls bending, curving, deforming as Something reached through, and he screamed -_   
  
\- _Leto’s hands around his throat and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight, his hands bound fast behind his back and he was struggling, struggling and Leto -_

He opened his eyes wide and stared at the canopy of the bed, feeling dizzy and sick, the blood pounding in his ears as he heard his own breaths, fast, frantic and terrified. He lay upon his back, arms outflung as though he were still chained and manacled, and he felt weak and sickened. He tried to swallow, his throat dry and sore as it had been when he had screamed for Anders, believing him dead.

He closed his eyes and knew no more.

**

After Fenris had settled on the roof of Belann’s Keep, he’d noticed the Antivan elf thanks to his draconic sight but he didn’t pay attention until he heard a scream of Anders’ name carry across to him. He flew over to the rookery, shifting carefully after he dug his claws into the balcony because a fall from that height _would_ end him. He crawled in and saw the Antivan sprawled on his bed, pale and sweating. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone,” he said as he pulled the elf into his arms and took himself back to Anders’ rooms in the hope someone could attend to the elf. 

He found Invictus sitting up at the feel of his arrival. “He was in the Rookery despite you all warning him not to go,” Fenris said as he laid the elf down. “Can you see to him?”

“Don’t go, love,” Vic said as he brushed a hand over the elf’s face.

“Why? So you all can lay into me too?” Fenris asked angrily.

“Because you promised us not to run,” Vic reminded him.

“Well that was before I found out Zevran humiliated me and Pin echoed his very words at me when I was already shamed,” Fenris snarled even as he took a seat in the chair by the bed. 

“You promised, and Anders will be back soon. He made the kids leave soon as you walked out and was not happy with things. So please, honor your word,” Vic said gently.

“Fine,” Fenris snarled from where he’d flung himself into a chair, well away from the windows. He sat there fuming as Vic worked to make Zevran comfortable until Anders returned.

The Antivan still had not opened his eyes when Anders returned, head lowered in thought, his boots covered with the powdery dust of the ground of the mountain path that even now remained lifeless, so many years after the Clearing. He closed the door behind himself then looked up.

“What’s happened?” he asked when he took in their expressions, then stared at Zevran lying seemingly asleep on his back on the bed. “What’s going on?”

“He went to the Rookery,” Fenris said from where he had curled up in the chair, seething quietly the whole time Vic had remained on the bed with Zevran.

“Yeah, I guess Fenris saw him as he was flying around and brought him back,” added Vic.

“He screamed for Anders,” Fenris said with a slight sneer.

Anders went still, his eyes suddenly intense as he stared at Fenris. “For me? or in fear of me?” he asked quietly. “Fenris. Where _exactly_ was Zevran when you found him - and what was he doing?”

“He was laying on the bed in the Rookery, sprawled out. I was across the courtyard as a dragon still or I wouldn’t have heard him at all. I can’t tell you what kind of scream it was, in fear or not,” the elf said as he rose and went for a drink and to ask that a tray be sent to them.

Anders pushed back his sleeves as he moved swiftly to the bed. “Bugger,” he muttered. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to hear.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Zevran’s forehead, the other on the Antivan’s chest. “Zev, you idiot, what possessed you to lie on the accursed thing?”

Fenris returned with a glass of wine and settled back in the chair as he watched Anders work. He didn’t want to return but he did _promise_ after all. He thought briefly of resting in the window seat then thought better of it.

Vic sat with Anders as he worked, sparing a glance for the Tevinter elf who seemed unhappy though he remained with them. Anders was frowning as he worked on the Antivan.

“He’s in shock,” he said quietly. “There’s... strange, it’s... I can only describe it as almost _ghost_ scars. I can feel... places where it’s as if his body is reacting to the presence of scars that don’t exist - that I know he never had. As if they were fresh, new - raw.” He lifted his hands to the high buttoned collar of Zevran’s shirt and slowly undid the buttons, then stared down. “Vic.”

As the other mage looked down, the fingerprints around the elf’s throat were clearly visible - they were livid and fresh. Even as Vic frowned down at them, he could see that the hands that had inflicted them were large and strong.

“Fenris... Zevran was alone when you found him?” asked Anders slowly.

“Yes, he was,” Fenris replied tersely. “Why?” 

“Come look,” said Anders. “Because he wasn’t alone up there. Someone... or some _thing_... was with him.”

“He wasn’t up there very long,” Fenris said as he came over and saw marks that matched his hands a little too closely. “So are you asking because you think I did this?” he asked again.

“No, I’m asking because our husband is comatose, Fenris, his body thinks it’s been flogged to within an inch of his life though there’s no mark on his skin to account for it, I can feel the after-effects of a massive surge of the kind of hormones that I remember from when I treated Arden after he’d escaped from Sebastian, and something tried to kill him,” said Anders. “And I don’t think it was you. I think that whatever it is... it came back with Leto from Adamant.” 

“Well, what do we do now? I don’t think there’s anything in the Rookery besides the Veil being very thin. But that’s a guess. Carver and Ser Amell are already working on it,” Fenris replied quietly before returning to his seat.

Anders stared down at Zevran, lifting one of the Antivan’s hands and turning it over to stare at the bloody crescent marks where he had clenched his hands so tight that his nails had cut into his skin. He laid his hand over the marks to heal them. “Something was waiting for him. Or... for _a_ Zevran.” He blinked, then his expression grew even graver. “Vic... I need to see this other Zevran. And Leto.” 

“I don’t want to leave Zevran alone while we all go to see him,” Vic said quietly.

“I’ll stay, I really don’t want to see Leto or the others,” Fenris said as he leaned back in the chair and pulled a book from a nearby shelf. 

“I think you need to bring them here,” said Anders as he stared down at Zevran, healing his other hand. “I daren’t leave Zevran; there’s no telling what state he may be in if he wakes up.” He looked up at Vic, his eyes narrowed. “And I think it’s time this Leto saw just what he has done.”

“The other Zevran is under house arrest, and I really don’t want to see him,” Fenris reiterated as he flipped through the book. “Zevran will be safe here with me, unless you think differently,” the elf said quietly. 

“Fenris,” said Anders softly, his voice far too calm. “He is under house arrest to _you_. You can bring him here. Right now, ‘I don’t want to’ is not a good enough reason. Not when there is so much at stake here.”

Fenris snapped the book shut and teleported out without a word before knocking on Leto’s door. 

“What?” the elf said as he opened the door and found his double glowering at him.

“Anders wants to see you and Zevran; that fool Antivan went to the Rookery and now he’s comatose. He wants answers for what happened in your world,” he said angrily.

“Well I don’t jump when he says jump. We’re still trying to get Zevran back to himself, and getting hauled in to see your Anders could be bad for him. He might think he’s Vengeance.”

His Anders looked up from the game of chess he was playing with Dorian; from where Fenris stood, it looked like he was losing badly. “Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I mean, apart from where he tried to strangle me the moment the door closed behind Fenris, he seems to have gotten over that whole ‘blond mage, must be a demon, better kill it now’ thing. The marks are barely visible, and he only snarled at me once this morning.”

“Fine, we’ll go. You stay here with Dorian,” Leto said tersely before shutting the door in Fenris’ face to get Zevran ready to come with them. He opened it again to have the Antivan hanging on him and staring blankly at the elf’s double. 

“Well, let’s go then,” Leto said tiredly

“Take my hand, so I don’t have to drag him through the keep in chains,” Fenris offered tiredly, and when they had latched on, he brought them directly to the room and let them go in the sitting area. “He’s in there.” Fenris indicated the sleeping area before turning to get himself more wine.

Zevran stared at him, then back at the thin silk curtains, where he could make out three figures - two sitting on the bed, a third lying on it. He moved toward the curtains and parted them cautiously.

The large, well-built man with black hair seemed familiar, but Zevran ignored him, his eyes going next to the blond mage who was looking around at him with a frown. Zevran smiled and sauntered towards him.

“You... I know you,” he drawled, reaching out to tug sharply at Anders’ hair. “I know you, and your pretty amber eyes - but they were blue before....”

Anders blinked; he was aware of Fenris and Leto looking towards him, startled, Leto taking a step towards them; but Zevran was pressing himself against Anders now, one hand almost caressing Anders’ face as he smiled down at him.

Then suddenly Anders’ hair was around his fist as he yanked hard and he snatched a blade from the belt of the unconscious blond man on the bed who he ignored, so intent was he on bringing the blade to Anders’ throat.

“Zevran, no! This isn’t our Anders, this is the one who belongs here and is Fenris’ husband. He’s not going to hurt you or anyone else,” Leto said as he approached slowly.

“If he hurts Anders, I’ll end you, Leto,” Fenris and Vic said almost in tandem.

Anders had gone very still, his hands raised to show they were empty, his head forced back by Zevran’s fist in his hair. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, not attempting to make eye contact as he felt the tip of the blade pierce his skin. He sent up a fervent but silent prayer to Andraste that it wasn’t one of the Antivan’s poisoned blades.

“Why do you expect me to believe you?” hissed Zevran. “They told me you would lie to me. But they said I would be able to finish what I started - and here, you have done exactly that! Here he is! And now he will never torment my dreams again!”

Fenris nodded to Leto who was behind the Antivan, as he approached carefully. Invictus watched them quietly before casting a crushing prison around the elf and letting it close slightly. 

“That’s enough of that,” Vic said quietly as he watched Leto approach him carefully. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d do that, he was ...he seemed better and that he understood what was going on,” the warrior said as he grabbed Zevran the moment Invictus dispelled his work.

The Antivan howled in fury as he struggled in Leto’s hands, the blade skittering away across the floor as Anders clutched his throat and coughed.

“No, you bastards, let me go! You do not understand - he is no mortal man, they _told_ me so, they _showed_ me!” screamed Zevran, thrashing wildly as he glared with murderous fury at Anders. “He-”

His eye fell on the other Zevran and he fell silent, his struggles ceasing as he stared at the other man.

“Wait. He, h-he has my face, he.. he is... me?” he stammered, all the colour draining from his face.

“Yes you fool, that’s what we tried to tell you,” Fenris said as he pulled the curtain cords to help bind the other elf. He was silent as he helped Leto tie the other elf’s wrists. Zevran held still as they bound him, his eyes on the other Antivan. He flexed his wrists briefly against the cords.

“This feels so familiar,” he murmured. “Though there were never two of you before. Have I been dreaming? Or is this the dream?”

“A damned nightmare that will not end,” Fenris said before he rose to attend to Anders, tilting the mage’s head back and checking his wound. 

Invictus sat with Zevran, protecting him as much as he could. 

“It’s alright, I don’t think it’s deep,” said Anders, a little shaken. He glanced at the blood on his hand and grimaced. “I was not expecting that.”

“What is going on?” asked the bound Zevran as he tested his bonds again. “Why am I here? Fenris? Why did you bring me here?”

Anders glanced up at him. “Wait... you know his name?”

“Well, yes,” replied Zevran with a shrug. “I generally make it a rule to know a man’s name before I ask him to fuck me. Or offer to fuck him. It is only polite, you know? It isn’t like killing someone. Though sometimes I have fucked someone then killed them.” He grinned. “Hard to do it the other way around, you know. Also very illegal in most places, though funnily enough not in Tevinter.”

Invictus was paying attention - luckily enough for the other Zevran before he was pitched out a window by Fenris. He barely caught the elf around the waist as he went after him for his insolence. 

“Hey, hey, stop it. He wound you up in the dungeons already, don’t let him do this here. Take a breath and calm down,” Vic said as he struggled to keep the elf from taking out his anger on the Antivan.

“No, I will not, Invictus! First he tries to kill Anders, and now this? I will see if this Crow can fly!” Fenris snarled, even as he watched Leto get between them.

“You’re not going to do that Fenris, calm down. Go take a walk if you need to but you’re not putting your hands on him,” Leto said quietly.

“Maker, you weren’t kidding,” murmured Anders as he rose to his feet and approached Leto and Zevran. The Crow was chuckling even as he twisted his wrists against the ropes, still testing his bonds.

“Ah, the first time he saw me, he told me he would not touch me, but I knew my charms would win out eventually,” he laughed. “The second time, I think he did not expect what he found. The third time? I found something he had lost, and helped him gain something new! Though of course, that was when he stabbed me.” He shrugged.

“Can’t imagine why,” said Anders as he eyed the Crow. “Zevran, I have something for you.”

“A gift?” said Zevran, surprised. “I love gifts. Tell me, what is it?”

“Oh, you’ll have to come over here and see,” said Anders, backing away as his eyes flicked up to Leto, then back to the Crow.

“Ah, Leto? Would you mind?” asked the Antivan courteously. “I am very curious what this is. Come, let us go see?” He glanced up at the taller elf, not making any attempt to pull away from the elf’s hand on his arm.

“Oh, Leto can come too,” Anders shrugged as he walked backwards through the curtains until he stood beside the bed.

“Let me go, Invictus, right now, let me go!” Fenris said as he tried to get out of the other man’s grip.

“Fenris, stop. Just stop. You beating him won’t help,” Vic said quietly as he wrapped his arms around his husband and tried to force him to be still.

“I’ll feel better!” the elf snarled before he gave in and stopped struggling in Vic’s arms. 

Leto was walking his Zevran over to join Anders by the bed, both elves regarding him with curiosity.

“See, it’s like this,” said Anders with a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “This is my Zevran, and he seems to have gotten some of your memories by mistake, Zevran. And I think I ought to return them.”

“That is very kind of you, though you are talking nonsense,” shrugged Zevran. “Return them? I haven’t lost my memory.”

“Oh, not to you, Zevran,” said Anders. His eyes went to Leto.

“To you.”

Anders’ hands flashed out - one to press against Zevran’s chest, and then the other to Leto’s.

In an instant that seemed to stretch for eternity, Leto saw and felt every single thing he had ever done to Zevran - all precisely as Zevran had felt them. Every flash of fear, every slap, every blow from fist or whip, the press of his fingers on his throat, in his hair. On one level he knew it was all in his mind; on another level, he _was_ Zevran.

And then he was staggering backwards, and the screams ringing in his ears were his own.

Zevran was staring at Anders, his eyes wide as he stood there, frozen. “What... what have you done?” he whispered.

Anders fell back onto the bed. “Undid the blood magic,” he breathed. 

Fenris and Invictus kept looking at the screaming elf and back to Anders before both men backed up and stared at Leto as he lay on the floor screaming, and begging. 

Anders bent over and pressed a hand to his head. “I fucking hate blood magic,” he uttered.

“I concur,” whispered Zevran.

“As do I,” groaned the other Zevran as he sat up groggily. “What is that terrible racket?”

“Hello, love,” said Anders wearily. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Vic looked up at Zevran, unsure what would happen with the other elf there. “I don’t know what Anders did to Leto but he’s been screaming for a few minutes.” 

“Never be that angry with me,” Fenris said as he edged backward against the wall. 

Leto’s Zevran was eyeing their own Zevran. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most devastatingly attractive eyes?” he asked with a charming smile.

Their Zevran arched an eyebrow. “Only as much as they have ever told you the same, I should think,” he replied with a small smile. He glanced over at Vic. “And now I see what you mean,” he added as he rose to his feet a little unsteadily. He eyed up the other Zevran then moved around him slowly. He tugged at the ropes binding the other elf’s wrists, and the bound man chuckled. 

“You appear to have me at a disadvantage,” murmured the captive Antivan, batting his eyelashes at Zevran.

“Indeed, I have you quite where I think I prefer to have you,” replied Zevran softly, reaching up to tug at the man’s hair; it elicited a faint gasp and a smouldering look. Zevran arched an eyebrow then glanced at Fenris. “Was I ever this appalling?” he asked. He appeared a little disconcerted.

“Yes, often, in Kirkwall,” Fenris replied as he watched them together. “If you plan to enjoy yourself, I’ll take myself somewhere else,” he added.

“Now love, don’t tell me you wouldn’t --” Vic started.

“Never, not even with a sword held to my neck,” Fenris replied before stepping over the elf that had finally stopped screaming. Leto was whimpering on the floor, crying as he felt pain that seemed to never end. 

“Oh, I can be _very_ enjoyable,” promised the bound Antivan as he lowered himself to his knees in front of Zevran. “I would be delighted to show you....”

Zevran stared down at him. “You know ordinarily I would hate to disappoint a beautiful man,” he drawled quietly. “But I am afraid that I must decline. I am, after all, a married man now.” He flashed his rings at the other elf.

The Antivan shrugged. “They may enjoy me too, I am very... accommodating,” he smiled. “Not to mention... _flexible_.”

Zevran frowned and looked back to Invictus. “No, seriously. I was this brazen?”

“In Vigil’s Keep you were often worse,” Anders murmured, hiding a smile behind his hand.

Fenris returned with a glass of whiskey after letting the servant in with food; he’d barely heard the man knocking. The servant laid out the platters upon the table then departed. 

“There’s dinner when you want it,” said Fenris. “Once they’re gone, I plan to sleep for a week.” He glared at the other Zevran and at Leto who had fallen silent finally. 

The Antivan rose to his feet and shrugged. “You cannot blame me for trying,” he remarked. “Is there any chance then that I might persuade you to untie me?”

Zevran turned him around and studied the knots. “Ah. I think it was Fenris who tied you,” he remarked. “He is far too fond of that particular tevinter half-hitch, no matter how many times I have tried to explain it is an inferior knot to the orlesian one.” He tsked then set to work to untie the Antivan. “Done.” He glanced up at Invictus. “I think it is probably best that he and Leto were returned to Leto’s rooms as swiftly as possible. A portal, perhaps?”

“Of course, but I can’t pick up Leto any more than I can pick up Fenris,” Vic commented. 

“Let me do it; the sooner I get them out of my sight the better,” the Tevinter elf said as he moved Vic aside and called up a portal. “Vic, you and both Zevrans can put him in his room,” he added as he held the portal open for them. 

Both Antivans hefted Leto between them and began dragging him towards the portal; with Vic’s help, they managed to get him through, to the room where the other Anders and Dorian were getting to their feet, shocked at the state of Leto.

As Zevran stepped back into Anders’ rooms again, the other Antivan turned and called out.

“I always knew I had a _fabulous_ arse!” He was still grinning as Vic stepped back through and the portal closed.

Zevran merely raised his eyebrows. “And so did I,” he murmured to himself.

Fenris waved his hands to dispel the excess energy before making himself a plate, silently and in annoyance it seemed. He took a seat and dug in, glad to have a meal he hadn’t hunted. Invictus sat across from him with his own plate and a large glass of wine. 

Zevran helped Anders up, the blond mage pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing slightly as they made their way to the table. He made sure Anders was settled with food and a glass of wine before serving himself.

Vic got a second helping before looking up to the others. “Well that was exciting,” he mumbled around a slice of boar meat.

“I’m done with exciting,” Fenris retorted before sitting back with his wine. He had not forgotten what had driven him off before but he was too frazzled from what Anders had done to his double. Anders himself was picking at his own food; he set his fork down, and reached for his wine.

Zevran was eating more sedately than Invictus, though he glanced up and nodded when Anders silently offered to top up his wine glass.

“How did you bring me back?” he asked quietly.

“Sympathetic magic,” shrugged Anders. “Unlocking the blood magic on the other Zevran unlocked it on you as well.”

“Hopefully they can get back home sooner than later,” Fenris said testily before heading into the other room with his drink. 

“That other Zevran really got under his skin. Much like you did many years ago, eh Zevran?” Vic commented.

“I do not recall offering to accommodate you both within the first five minutes of meeting you,” Zevran replied. “And Fenris was not so much larger than me as he is now. I can be as flexible as the next man - but to think I could take all the four of us? I am not that conceited or ambitious.”

“So you say, Zevran,” Vic said with a last look at his Antivan husband before leaving to join Fenris, hopeful the elf was not still in a snit.

Zevran glanced at Anders, who had managed about half of his food. “ _Mi cuore_?” he asked softly. Anders shook his head.

“Splitting headache,” murmured Anders. “Breaking blood magic always comes with a backlash. Usually grounding through the mage breaking it.”

“How did it bind me? what is this sympathetic magic you speak of?” asked Zevran. Anders sighed.

“You and he are like... like two sides of the same coin. You can’t really affect one side without the other side being affected - take a piece of the design away and you change the weight of the whole coin. Scrape a bit off the edge on one side and you scrape a bit off the edge on both sides. Bad analogy really, but basically what happened to that Zevran had a corresponding effect on you.” He gave up on the food and reached for the wine. “You weren’t bound by the blood magic the way he was, but it still affected you - because Leto was here, I guess, and something came through with him. I’m guessing maybe it was something Vengeance did to keep tabs on Leto, and it just followed him... which brought all of that nastiness through with it.” 

He sat back. “I’m going to have to talk to Carver. But basically, when I broke the blood magic on their Zevran, the hold on you was broken too.”

“And... the other one, Leto. What did you do to him?” asked Zevran, quieter. Anders gave him a sad, twisted little lopsided smile.

“That was all the pain, violence and sadistic torture he ever inflicted on that Zevran,” he replied quietly. “All balled up into one handful of pain and released. All at once.”

“Anders... but... why?” asked Zevran, uneasy.

“Because maybe I believe there needs to be a little bit of justice in the world, Zevran,” said Anders quietly, not meeting his eyes. “And because the tail end of that blood magic backlash needed to go somewhere. Why not him? You can’t say he didn’t deserve it.” Anders stared down into his glass. “And before you ask... no. I didn’t enjoy doing it, and I’m not proud of myself, but if it means he’ll think twice before taking his anger out on any of them again through habit or reflex then I shan’t waste my time worrying about him. There’ll be no permanent physical damage. He might have a sore throat from screaming and I dare say he’ll have jolly unpleasant dreams for a long time to come.”

He raised his glass in the direction of Leto’s rooms. “Join the bloody club, you bastard,” he added, quietly.

Meanwhile Fenris had stretched out on the side of the bed that faced out to the room, stripped down to his pants and Invictus had cuddled up to him. They were talking quietly, and Fenris seemed on the verge of getting up even though he was being held. 

Anders glanced back at them, and sighed. “It’s happened again,” he said sadly. “Vic and Fen. You and I. It’s always going to be like this, Zev. Isn’t it?”

“No-one can see the future, my heart,” replied the Antivan. “Come. I shall bring the wine, and we shall join them - and then we shall be four together, yes?”

Anders gazed towards the others. “Do they even want us there?” he asked, wistful.

Zevran paused by the chair, glancing up at the others before he looked back down at Anders. “If we go there, and they stay, then you have your answer. If they do not stay? Then you also have your answer - but if we stay here, you do not. But either way, you have me, _mi cuore_.”

Anders gazed towards the others, then got to his feet. “Alright,” he said quietly. He followed Zevran into the sleeping area then halted as Zevran moved around the bed to set down the bottle of wine on that bedside table before sitting down to remove his boots.

Anders hesitated for a moment, then sat down at the desk. He set down his glass then bent over to start unlacing his boots. He’d noticed how Fenris and Vic had fallen silent, and the silence felt intimidating.

“If you want to know if we will stay, just ask us,” Vic said quietly, even as he held Fenris close and squeezed the elf around the middle.

Zevran glanced up at Anders; as he caught sight of the expression on the mage’s face, he said calmly, “Then will you stay?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure if I didn’t want to be here I would have never come back this morning,” Vic replied before he pressed a kiss to Fenris’ shoulder. 

“And you, Fenris?” asked Anders quietly, his nerves showing in how his fingers fiddled restlessly with the laces of his boots.

“I’m still here aren’t I?” the elf replied tiredly. He was still angry with Zevran but out of steam to do anything about it. He laid there in Vic’s arms, quietly pondering things and wishing he’d never fallen into that other Thedas. 

Anders set his boots aside. “Yes... yes, you are,” he replied. He began to unlace his tunic, stripping it off slowly, frowning at the bloodstains down the front. He lifted his hand to touch the small scab on his throat, then turned away as he stripped the tunic off.

Vic whispered something in Fenris’ ear, and switched places with the elf quickly, both of them facing to the middle of the bed, and Fenris forced to see Zevran instead of the rest of the room. He felt an arm around his waist and another gentle kiss to his shoulder from Vic.

Zevran had been in the middle of stripping his shirt off, one foot tucked up beneath him, the other resting on the floor beside the bed; he froze as he suddenly found himself being stared at by Fenris. He arched an eyebrow in mild surprise, then finished unbuttoning his shirt cuffs before he slipped the shirt off his shoulders. “So... you do not wish to sleep in the middle, Invictus?” he murmured as he freed one arm slowly.

“No, and I will probably will need to visit the privy at some point during the night. I’d rather not be stabbed for my troubles or elbow Fenris in the face as I climb over him,” Vic said as he kissed Fenris’ shoulders again to soothe the elf.

Fenris watched Zevran carefully as the elf finished undressing and sat there, regarding him a little warily. Zevran darted a glance at Anders, who was still undressing, then frowned.

“Anders?” he said softly.

“I’ll be there in a minute, love,” said Anders, his back to them both. “That cut reopened. There wasn’t anything on that knife of yours, was there?”

Zevran frowned. “What colour was the cord on the haft?” he asked.

“Erm... red? I think?” said Anders, dabbing at the blood running down his chest in a small trickle. Zevran relaxed.

“Ah, no, that one is a clean blade,” he shrugged. “I never keep poisoned blades at my belt; I do not wish to poison myself with a blade I might eat with, or a friend if I lend it to them. Or... have it stolen.” He glanced down at Fenris again.

“I’ll move if you’d rather I not be next to you,” the Tevinter elf finally said as he moved to change places with his husband.

“Fenris, stop this. We’re not going to heal if you are so timid with him,” Vic said quietly.

“Tell that to my heart, it still aches,” Fenris replied before looking up to Zevran, unsure what would happen.

“Sorry, love, were you waiting for me?” asked Anders as he turned back towards them, still dabbing at the cut. “You’ll have to move over then, this bed was built for four but Fenris wasn’t taller than I am back then so it might be a bit of a squeeze.”

Zevran slid beneath the covers and moved towards Fenris, his eyes not meeting those of the other elf as Anders slipped into the bed behind the Antivan.

“I _think_ it’s stopped bleeding now,” continued Anders as he pressed himself up against Zevran, edging the Antivan over so he lay on his side, fully face to face with Fenris.

Fenris stared at him for a moment and raised a hand hopefully. “May… may I touch you?” he finally asked in a voice so unlike himself that Vic sat up and paid attention.

Zevran closed his eyes. “ _Si_ ,” he whispered. “You may touch.”

Fenris got closer and slipped an arm around the other elf, letting himself finally relax instead of holding himself stiff and scared. “ _I’m still hurting, but I didn’t lie when I said I missed you_ ,” he said quietly in Antivan.

Zevran’s body felt tense as the Antivan lay there, then as a couple of minutes passed and nothing happened, he seemed to relax a little. “And I, you,” he murmured in Trade.

“Zevran?” murmured Anders. The Antivan shook his head, and Anders sat back a little before glancing up at Invictus.

“Let them have this moment,” Vic said as he closed his eyes and let his hand rest on Fenris’ hip.

As for the Tevinter elf, he pulled Zevran in closer and leaned in. “May I kiss you, _carissimi_?” he asked, scared the answer would be no.

Zevran’s eyes snapped open at the endearment and stared at Fenris, seeming to stop breathing. He nodded, slowly.

Fenris leaned in and kissed the other elf slow and easy, pulling him closer as he got into the kiss, having missed him despite their fighting. He felt wetness on his cheeks as he pulled away to catch his breath. “I hope we’ll be ok soon, I’m sorry,” the elf said quietly before he leaned in to hold Zevran to him.

The Antivan gasped for breath, his eyes closed once more, no longer tense in Fenris’ arms.

Behind him, Anders pressed a gentle kiss to Zevran’s shoulder. “It’s alright, love,” he murmured before pulling back as far as he was able without actually falling out of bed.

Vic glanced at Anders over the elves’ shoulders and gave him a sly look. “Want to give them a bit of space? We can get together here or in the other room?” 

Anders sat up, looking at Zevran with worry. The Antivan’s eyes were still closed, his face now wet with tears. Anders looked back at Vic as he tried to ease himself a little further back. “Are you su-”

He gave a startled yelp as Zevran rolled towards Fenris and dragged the covers with him, leaving Anders uncovered; as Anders made a belated grab for some fleeting sense of dignity he fell off the edge of the bed with a muffled thud and a faint whimper.

“Anders you alright?” Vic asked as he got up and came around to help the other mage up. He pulled him close with a smile. “Might I spend the night with you love?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing wrong with me, only thing wounded there was my pride so no-” Anders fell silent mid-mutter as he lifted his head to find himself held rather closer than he expected. He swallowed, then murmured, “I... yes... alright,” disconcerted. “What... where are we going to sleep, now they’ve stolen the bed?” He tried to ignore the sudden soft burst of breathed Antivan swearing from behind him.

“There’s a bed we haven’t destroyed at home in Nevarra. I can take us there and we can return in the morning - and there’s a bed in Fenris’ office as well,” Vic offered. 

Anders stared up at him, then pulled away slightly as he glanced aside. Then he turned and moved towards the main room, not looking back to see if Vic was following.

“Anders? I can open a portal in the bedroom easily. Unless… you’d rather not?” Vic said quietly. 

Anders went to the wardrobe and pulled out one of his older, more tatty robes that he’d occasionally liked to wear for comfort back in the old house, and he went over to one of the chairs by the unlit fireplace. He pulled his feet up onto the chair and wrapped the long hem of the robe over them. He glanced up as Vic followed him, the other mage looking baffled.

“I’m... sorry, Vic,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want to go to the house in Nevarra. And I’d rather not be too far away from Zevran and Fenris.” He glanced at the unlit fire, at the wood stacked neatly in the grate, then gestured almost absently to ignite it.

“You ...fine....” Vic trailed off before crossing to the couch and curling up on it, angry at Anders’ change of heart in mere moments and unable to block the noises coming from the sleeping area. He kicked himself for thinking things could be better, and felt a fool. 

Anders glanced over at him, then glanced away into the fire, wrapping one arm around his knees as he scrubbed at his face with the palm of his other hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Save your sorry, I’d hoped …” Vic replied over his shoulder, then fell quiet as he tried to sleep or at best, ignore the two elves as they had a happier reunion than he and Anders had.

“You’d hoped what?” asked Anders quietly. “That you could whisk me away and we’d be like them? Well, excuse me for having had second thoughts or doubts about ever setting foot in that house again.” His tone turned a little sharp. “For not being ready to go back to a house where too much of our blood was spilt - where the whole damned house would be haunted by the ghosts of two men who died at Adamant. Excuse me for not being ready to face that just yet, Invictus.” He glanced back at the flames. 

The brunet mage remained silent, despite the urge to snap back. Instead he curled up further on the couch and ignored everything, hopeful they would sleep soon. Vic found his own tears falling as he finally slept, though it was not restful.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' magic gets away from him. Frustrations over his sister ensue.

It was Fenris who found them there the next morning - the fire burned down to low coals in the grate, Invictus on the couch, and Anders curled up uncomfortably in the chair, tears dried on his face, his legs tangled up in the skirts of his robes which were tucked up beneath him.

Fenris woke Invictus and held him close, asking what happened to have them apart. He frowned at the other man’s words, and let him go so he could bathe and get himself together before the others woke. 

Fenris let Anders sleep, mostly because the other man didn’t rest well as it was. He watched as Invictus came back, dressed and after a kiss on the cheek, he saw him off. Soon Fenris was in a chair reading, content to let the other men wake on his own. 

Anders groaned as he woke slowly, his first awareness pain - his whole spine feeling like it was on fire and screaming at him. “Maker’s... balls... must’ve fallen asleep.. m’desk again,” he muttered as he winced, eyes still shut.

“Not at your desk,” Fenris remarked as he closed his book and approached the mage. “I let you sleep, it seemed as if you needed it.”

Anders cracked open one eye. He peered up at the elf, grimacing a little at the discomfort in his spine, then he glanced down and tugged his robe out from beneath his feet enough to be able to straighten his legs with a groan. “My feet have gone to sleep,” he groaned as he slowly got to his feet and uncurled, and then he clutched at the mantelpiece as his neck spasmed, followed by the small of his back. He gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to die down to a dull ache again. 

“Is Zevran still asleep?” he asked finally, when he thought he was capable of doing more than swear silently under his breath again.

“As far as I know yes, Vic went out for a walk,” Fenris added as he watched the other man carefully. 

“Oh,” Anders answered, quietly, glancing down at the dying coals. “I... see.” The blond mage pressed a hand absently to the small of his back and channelled a little healing there to help relax the spasmed muscles without really thinking about it. “Getting too old to sleep in chairs anymore,” he murmured. He finally glanced back at Fenris. “You... had a nice night with Zevran, then.” It wasn’t quite a statement, but wasn’t quite a question either.

“And you had no such night, I had thought things were well between you when you both left the bed?” Fenris replied. 

“So did I,” said Anders wistfully. “But then he wanted us to go back to the Nevarran house and I... I couldn’t,” he replied. “I froze for a moment and... and so I came in here, but... he was angry with me, and then I said I was sorry and tried to explain but....”

He let his hands fall to his sides as he stared at the ashes rather than at Fenris. “It was no good. He was angry. Turned his back on me. I suppose I eventually fell asleep. And now he’s gone off somewhere, and....” He sighed. Finally he glanced back at Fenris. “I’m glad you two had a good night together though.”

Fenris shrugged, he didn’t want to really talk much about their reunion, he was concerned with Anders and Invictus. “He talked to me before he left, he’d been crying as well Anders. I hope it was just a misunderstanding and you both just took a wrong turn last night.” He glanced back at the sleeping area and then the door. 

“I’m going to the College to get ...a staff. I can ...can feel the magic and it's bothering me, and I should find some way to control it. I’ll return soon as I can,” Fenris said quietly. 

“Fenris,” said Anders carefully, as though uncertain how the elf would take what he was about to say. “I... could teach you. If you like. I’m assured I’m a good teacher; I guess I’ve certainly had a lot of practice. That is... unless you’d rather ask Dorian, or ask Parcival to recommend one of the other teachers? You wouldn’t be the first self-taught adult apostate they’ve taught there; they’d have good classes and one-to-one teachers who wouldn’t patronise you with apprentice tricks or anything like that, and they wouldn’t talk down to you for never having studied it.” He regarded Fenris a little fearfully, in case the elf - always so prickly about any area in which he feared he might be made a fool of for his ignorance - might snap at him. He remembered how defensive he’d been early on about reading lessons too, after Anders had finally gotten him to at least give them another try.

As prickly as Pin had been, he remembered, until she realised how much of an advantage it would give her over the other students as Anders taught her himself, giving her access to magical training that none of the others would have.

He held his tongue however, waiting for the elf to respond. After the way Pin had flown off the handle at Fenris, he wasn’t about to raise the subject of his daughter - but he rather hoped Fenris would agree to his offer. If Fenris went to the college himself, he might run into Maevaris.

Worse still, he might encounter Varania.

“I don’t know yet, I am just going to get a staff and return.” Fenris said, on edge in response to how cagey Anders was being. “I don’t want one but I can’t really channel magic through my sword, I know that much.” 

Anders frowned slightly as he straightened. “Don’t be so certain of that,” he said, and Fenris could tell by his voice that Anders was now considering from the point of a senior enchanter and no longer as Anders, his erstwhile husband. “What do you know of Arcane Warriors?”

“Nothing - and I’m not trying to learn to fight yet another way, Anders,” Fenris said as he watched the mage warily. “Let me be up front. I do not like having magic, I do not want this, but I know I have to at least learn to control it, so I don’t burn down the house or freeze myself to the floor. It's a necessity far as I am concerned, and I am not going to learn a whole new fighting style, especially when I’m not actively fighting now.” 

“I’m not suggesting you do,” replied Anders. “But Arcane Warriors don’t use staves as foci; many of them use enchanted blades - much as Belann did with his knives. The knives that my daughter uses, as a matter of fact. But others - particularly in the Wardens - have used swords for preference, and Derwently at the College has made a study of them and I believe there are several in his keeping. Go ask for him, tell him I sent you and that you are to have your pick of the ones he has. There are a few greatswords in his collection I believe. You’ll find one of those of far more use to you than any staff - not least because it will feel far more natural in your hand than a staff.”

Fenris turned to him and looked him up and down carefully. “You’re being cagey, why?” he asked. 

“Because I was snapped at by Vic last night, and I really don’t want to be snapped at by you, too, love,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “And you’ve never liked being around large numbers of mages, so it’s going to leave you on edge enough as it is. And I don’t want your first experience of being amongst those who are, whether you like it or not, your peers now Fenris, to be an utter disaster and put you off learning to control your magic.” He looked up at Fenris.”And I’m tired, in a great deal of pain, and I don’t want us to fight, alright? Because if you snap at me too then... then....”

He turned and dropped into his chair, suddenly looking old, tired and sad. “I don’t think I can take that all over again, love,” he said in a small, wistful voice.

“I had no intent on snapping at you Anders, in case you couldn’t tell I was just as tired of fighting. I just feel like you are trying to get me to not visit the College. I just wanted to get this staff and come back.” 

“Alright,” said Anders, still in that small voice. “I’m sorry, love.” He glanced up. “But do talk to Derwently, alright? Please? I know he’d love to see one of his swords being cared for instead of them languishing in his care as museum objects.” He smiled almost indulgently at thought of the earnest young man who had begged Callus to show him how to wield a sword and nearly lopped his own foot off before concluding he was entirely unsuited to trying to recreate the idea of an Arcane Warrior himself.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him. Anything else?” Fenris asked as he paused near the door. 

Anders stared at the ground. “Your... sister is still there,” he finally said quietly. “She doesn’t leave the research labs though. And Maevaris is teaching a guest course on the breaking and unravelling of blood magic and compulsions.”

Fenris paled at the news Varania was still there. “My… sister,” he said quietly. “She’s here.” 

“Yes,” Anders replied softly. “I ran into her by chance, barely a week after I’d left the infirmary following the second heart attack. Nearly gave me a third one.”

“My… sister.... Is here,” Fenris repeated as he sat at the table and tried to reconcile what he heard. “Why… is … she... here?” he asked as he felt ice forming and spreading as he felt his breathing grow faster and his thoughts circled back. 

Anders leapt up from his chair and turned to see the table iced over and frost creeping across the floor towards him. “Fenris!” he exclaimed, eyes widening in alarm. Hastily he lifted his hands and began weaving a counterspell to dispel it. But after a night of not enough sleep, his mana was depleted, and the ice was forming as swiftly as Anders could dispel it, powered directly through Fenris’ lyrium that acted as a conduit to the Fade. 

And then the ice was advancing as he retreated into the corner. “Fenris! _Fenris!!_ ”

The elf glanced up and realized what he was doing, and let his brands dim and cut off the power to his magic before he could encase the suite in ice. “She’s… here.”

Anders was pressed against the wall, staring at Fenris with wide eyes even as Zevran burst through the curtain. “ _Mi cuore!_ What -”

His heel struck the ice and he skidded then slid several feet into the room on the iced floor. He came to a halt and stood still, naked and beginning to shiver as he stared around the room in bewilderment at the slowly melting ice, his breath steaming in the frigid air.

“What is going on?” he breathed.

‘My sister is still here, and I just now found out,” Fenris said over and over.

“No-one told him,” said Anders as he tapped into his greatly depleted mana to generate a little fire magic, carefully melting and evaporating the ice that hemmed him then advancing slowly into the room as it began to grow humid, steam wafting up into the air from the sublimating ice. He desperately hoped the books were alright. “Control. Gently applying fire. Enough to melt and vaporise the ice, not enough to set it on fire.” He knew he was rambling as he said it, his eyes on the ice. If he tried to manage anything more coherent, he suspected he might start giggling hysterically. “Andraste’s flaming knickers. Wish Vic was here. He’s good at this bit. Mind your feet love.” 

Zevran wordlessly stepped aside and watched him as he slowly dispersed the ice.

Fenris sat there staring out, occasionally mentioning his sister before tapping his fingers repeatedly and saying “still here” under his breath. 

“Ah,” said Zevran quietly. “Yes. That was why your brother and I fought, _carissimi_. Well. Amongst other reasons. He brought Varania here. After what she did to me, I am none too glad.”

He sighed. “I shall go get dressed, then look for Invictus.”

“Please,” nodded Anders. “If he starts again, I’m not sure I can dispel his magic again, and you might find me making snow sprites.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Or being one.” He grinned, giggled, then clapped a hand over his mouth.

“I’m going to kill him for this… for bringing _her_ ,” Fenris said before he fell silent except for the tapping his fingers restlessly.

Zevran glanced at Anders, then Fenris, before striding through to the sleeping area to dress swiftly.

“Meneris punched him,” said Anders. “Aeolus, that is. You _did_ mean Aeolus, right? He smashed his eye. Squish, eye gone. A mess, really. That was after he tried to kill Zev again.” He looked around again. “Sweet Andraste, please bring Vic back,” he added fervently.

“I’ll kill Meneris, THEN I’ll kill Aeolus,” Fenris said angrily.

“I... shouldn’t have said that,” said Anders uneasily. “Though - did you see Dorian’s face? That cut? That was Isabela. She held a knife to Dorian’s eye and told Meneris she was going to carve it out as he watched - because she knew having to look at Dorian’s face with his eye gouged out would be worse than losing his own eye. Zevran said he was in bed and a mess when he went to beg his help to save the other me. Actually got right down on his knees, right there in front of Meneris, and -”

“Anders, as I love you, stop,” said Zevran as he walked back through the curtain. “Yes, I abased myself in front of Meneris. I am not proud of that, but nor do I wish to hear of my humiliation again.”

“I’m sorry, love,” murmured Anders, contrite. 

Fenris was just angrily sitting there, letting his thoughts cycle over and over. “I’m going to be an orphan, that’s it, I’ll be an orphan.”

“Wh-what?” asked Anders. “What do you mean, love?”

“An only child... I meant,” Fenris replied without turning his head or looking at Anders. He was fixated on a spot on the floor. 

“Oh,” said Anders, as he glanced around at the sodden chairs and bookcases, water dripping from the precious books, his mana depleted too much to save them with fire magic. He dropped to the floor and sat there, looking around forlornly. “I think I had siblings somewhere. A brother and a sister. I don’t know if they survived the Blight.”

“You can have mine then,” Fenris snarled as he looked up finally at the sound of the door opening. 

Anders looked up at Vic as the other mage took three steps into the room then halted, taking in the soaking wet books, the sodden carpet underfoot, the pools of water on the flagstone floor, Fenris in a rage and Anders sitting in a pool of water, looking up at him with relief.

“Oh thank the Maker,” breathed Anders. “Vic. There was too much ice, I couldn’t dispel it and the books are ruined. Fen, he... he... Varania’s here. Fen’s very good at ice, did you know? And Zev - Zev, he went -” Anders started to giggle. “He went _wheeeee!_ You should have seen it, Vic! It was so funny!” He wrapped his arms around himself, giggling helplessly. 

‘Ice is when I’m scared, fire for when I’m angry,” Fenris replied quietly. 

Anders’ giggles ceased. He stared at Fenris. “You are never, ever allowed to mention Ellowynne setting the house on fire ever again,” he said quietly, before he stared at the floor. “Vic. I can’t handle this. Any of this. It’s too much, and you went out and, and I needed you, and....” He fell silent.

“You really shouldn’t bring that up right now,” Fenris said as he got up and promptly slipped in a puddle, cussing a blue streak as he landed. He laid there and tried to control his magic if nothing else so he wouldn’t freeze the room again. “This is a damned fine bloody fucking start to the day!” he said before he dragged himself up and shook off. “Well, I won’t be going to the college like this.” 

“Fenris, love please calm down,” Vic asked him.

“Not a word Invictus Endrin Hawke, not one bloody word right now. My void bedamned _SISTER_ is here, and you all knew and didn’t tell me. My brother is missing an eye and you all want me to be calm? I will not be calm.” Fenris said as he headed into the bedroom to strip out of his soaked clothes.

Zevran moved forward to guide Anders to his feet as he stared at Invictus. “I swear, madness has infected them both this morning,” he stated. “I woke to find the room covered in ice. Now _he_ is hysterical, and Fenris is angry, and _brasca_ \- this whole place is poison. You deal with Fenris. I will deal with _mi cuore_. He has no more mana to deal with it if Fenris loses his wits again - or the ability to do more than giggle.”

Anders glanced up at Vic. “I can’t go home, Vic. But I can’t stay here. You... you went away, love, and... and Fen made ice, and the books are ruined, and... and....”

“Maker, calm yourself, Anders,” Vic said as he tried to steer the mage towards the bed. “I’ll dry the books, and you should sit down.” 

Anders meekly allowed himself to be herded back towards the bed, clutching his ratty old robe around himself. He sat down, watching as Zevran pulled pants, a linen shirt and one of his Anderfels tunics out for him to dress.

The Antivan watched Fenris for a moment, then turned back to Vic. “Fenris has been ranting about his sister, Varania and Aeolus. I think Anders will stay here if I watch him,” he said very quietly. “But Fenris is in a fey mood, and I worry that he will take it into his head to confront his sister... or his brother.”

“Well I can’t keep him here, he’s stronger than all of us,” Vic said as he watched Fenris dressing and strapping on his sword. 

“Hey love, where are you going?” Vic asked.

“Don’t worry about it, take care of them,” Fenris answered. 

“Fenris, don’t go up there ready to kill your sister or go looking for Meneris to fight with him. Isabela already had her revenge on Dorian for their fight. Besides we don’t even know where he is,” Vic said.

The elf turned and gave Vic a crooked smile. “I’m not going to kill her. I just want to talk, see how it is my dear, dear sister came to be brought here. Then I will find Aeolus; he showed me how I can use our lyrium to track him. Meneris is low on the list of people I want to have words with, Vic,” Fenris said before he lit up and took himself to the College. He took the stairs two at a time up into the College tower as he went looking for his sister, eager to have a word with her.

He found his aims thwarted however by the large doors that blocked his way up from the ground floor, guarded by two battlemages. They crossed their staves as he made to pass.

“Sorry, ser; admittance is for mages of the College and their guests only,” the female battlemage said firmly. 

“I am a … mage.” Fenris replied. 

"Pull the other one, ser, it's got bells on,” replied the male battlemage.

Fenris held his hand up and let a flame come to his palm. “No really, see - fire.”

The two battlemages exchanged a ‘seen it all’ glance.

"Not a mage of this College you aren't, ser," said the male battlemage with a bored look.

"Are you coming to enroll, ser? Admissions is that desk over there," said his colleague helpfully, pointing at a desk several feet away.

Fenris’ ears drooped and he grumbled. “No, I’m here to see one of your guest researchers,” he replied.

"Ah,” she replied. They exchanged a look. “Have you got an appointment, ser? A letter of recommendation from another College?" the man asked gruffly.

“An ...appointment? Since when do I need an appointment? I’m not enrolled anywhere. Look, I just need to see her - red headed short elven woman. She’s my relative,” Fenris explained. 

“You’ll need an appointment, or we can pass a letter to your relative if you like, ser. Desk is over there if you’d like to use it,” the female battlemage replied.

Fenris glared at them but went over to the desk to dash off a missive.

> _“V, I know you are here. Come meet me in my rooms for dinner tonight. F”_

He handed his letter over and was told he could wait for a reply, which thankfully did not take long. He unrolled the scrap of paper, unsurprised but disappointed at her reply.

> _"F, My apologies, Brother, but I am currently engaged in important research to send your mirror self back to his own Thedas. So glad my work was of use to see you returned, however. Please do give my regards to Anders and his charming daughter. V."_

Scowling, Fenris penned another reply to her, one less terse.

> _“V, dearest sister, it was not a request, surely you can spare time for me after A went through the trouble to bring you here. Fond Regards, your loving brother, F”_

He waited again, this time getting more agitated as he waited, until finally a messenger returned and dropped off another small slip of paper, and waited for his reply if there was one.

> _“V, you have to leave the tower sometime. Either come out or I will request someone bring you. Please, I just want to see you. Cheers, F”_

Varania’s reply was swifter than the last, apparently she was fed up with her brother’s missives.

> _"F, Loving? As if. You were pretty set on killing me when last we met. I assisted A for my own reasons. I must admit I was curious to see this place where my work has been taught. I do believe your daughter is a student here, isn't she? Don't worry, I shall be on my way the moment your Leto shakes the dust of our Thedas off his heels. V."_

His reply was not as direct as before, but it was short.

> _“V, please. I am sincere in just wanting to talk. Regards, F.”_

Fenris almost felt bad for the runner but this was more than he had expected and he hoped she would see that he was being truthful. His expression fell slightly when he read her response.

> _"Not without Anders and Dorian to referee. V."_

He wrote one more missive then grabbed his sword so he could leave. “Tell her if she wishes to reply, to send it to the former Grand Enchanter’s rooms as that’s where I’m at. Thank you, messere.”

> _“V, this isn’t something I wish them to witness. The other you in Leto’s Thedas was different. I will not bother you again, I beg this of my sister. Leto”_

Fenris gave a last look up towards where the runner had disappeared up the stairs and decided to look for his _amicus_ , and hopefully have a better talk with him than his sibling. He wasn’t stopped as he headed up to the former Inquisitor’s quarters and knocked.

“Dorian, are you in?” he asked after waiting a few moments.

Soon, the door opened and Meneris peered out at him fearfully. “Come to finish what your brother and his woman started?” 

“No, I haven't seen either of them yet. I’ve been back two hellish days and I just wanted to check on Dorian and you. I’m angry but right now, I have no energy for fighting. From what I heard, Isabela got enough of a fright in both of you for the age. Can I come in please?” Fenris asked tiredly.

“Fine, but be careful - he’s had a hard couple of days as well,” Meneris said quietly before withdrawing to the balcony so they could visit without him hanging around.

The elf found Dorian in bed, propped up with a tray, wine and something simple for lunch. He sat next to the magister and gave him a tense smile. “Glad to see you are feeling better _amicus_. Sorry it took me a couple days to come by.”

Dorian shrugged graciously. “I spent yesterday asleep; I dare say even Dumat himself couldn’t have woken me. Meneris assures me I did actually open my eyes a couple of times, but I don’t remember doing so.”

“I can imagine making that potion was draining. I’m sorry for all that’s happened while I was gone.” Fenris have him a wan smile. “May I visit a while or do you need more rest?”

Dorian ran a hand over his face then grimaced as he accidentally caught the edge of the scabbed cut beneath his eye. “Parcival is far worse off than I. I was up for twenty-eight hours straight making that potion, but frankly that's nothing - I've pulled longer stints than that when researching. _He_ , on the other hand, spent several hours working with me on the potion then expended pretty much all of his mana saving Anders’ life and healing his heart - and apparently he's been pretty much flat out in bed ever since. I'd have been fine if I hadn't had all that unpleasantness over Aeolus on top of that.” Dorian glanced away as he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “I don't mind telling you, _amicus_ , that whole business left me badly shaken,” he went on in a low voice. “Isabela... tied me to a chair. Held a blade to my face.... I honestly thought she was going to gouge out my eye. I... can't abide feeling that helpless. I thought....” He shuddered and fell silent.

Fenris reached over to the other man, gently rubbing his shoulder. “It made you think of fleeing home?” He asked as he watched Dorian closely. “I’m sorry.”

“It brought back bad memories,” said the Tevinter magister quietly. “The last time I was tied down in my own room with a knife held to me, it was my own father and he -”

Dorian broke off and glanced away. “Damn it - I can’t keep wallowing in it like this,” he muttered. “Though at least I haven’t just dived straight back into a bottle again - I shan’t deny I was strongly tempted after that.” He glanced back to Fenris. “I’m sorry, _amicus_ \- I’m afraid I’ve been rather a mess and pretty poor company. I should get up out of this bed.”

“It’s alright Dorian, I can go if you need to get to your day. I just wanted to check on you,” Fenris replied quietly, dropping his hand slowly. 

Dorian threw back the covers and swung his legs out of bed, uncaring that he was naked - it wasn’t as if Fenris hadn’t seen all there was to see of him multiple times in the past, after all. He gave Fenris a rueful grin. “I do appreciate it, _amicus_ ,” he smiled. “But yes, I do need to sort myself out and get back to work. We need to find a way to get the other you and his companions back to their own world, after all, and obviously we can’t use the same trick we did to get you home. I need to talk to Ellowynne however.”

Fenris turned away to give the other man a sense of privacy as he dressed, feeling awkward after the comments he’d gotten about his extra activities, and how he’d fought with the other version of his occasional lover. He was quiet as he waited for Dorian to finish so he could leave together, if the magister was seeking his step-daughter.

Dorian cast him several curious glances as he dressed, then looked over at Meneris who seemed also a little perplexed by Fenris’ behaviour. As Dorian sat himself at the dressing table to tame his hair and apply kohl, they exchanged glances in the mirror.

“Is everything alright, _amicus_?” asked Dorian, carefully lining his eyes. “You seem remarkably ill at ease.”

“Not really, and I’d rather not burden you with all that’s gone wrong since my return. Its nothing you’ve done wrong Dorian, not you at all,” Fenris replied as he finally looked up to watch Dorian finish getting ready. 

Dorian checked his reflection, frowning as he studied the scabbed cut beneath his eye. It looked like it would definitely leave a scar, and he found the idea bothered him far more than it should. He set down the kohl then reached for his gold rings, slipping them on before rising to turn to Fenris.

“I think we’ve all had rather a rough time since you returned,” he nodded. “Still, once we’ve sent them home, life should return to normal, hmm? I dare say you and your husbands will be keen to get back to Nevarra and sort your house out - it must be quite a mess.”

“Not really, the house is a disaster and none of us want to go back to it. Things have been...difficult since I came back.  
,” Fenris admitted before he dropped his gaze to the bedding and tried to stay calm. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, _amicus_ ,” said Dorian gently. “I do recall Zevran was looking rather dreadful when I burst in on you all like that - and I apologise for my rather rude intrusion; I’m afraid I wasn’t really thinking - I just knew that getting the cure to Leto’s Anders was vitally important. Looking back, I suspect I rather interrupted something? I do hope things are alright between you all? Anders’ return to full health must be a relief for you all, at least.”

“No...they aren’t,” Fenris said as he kept fiddling with the covers but didn’t continue.

Dorian regarded him sympathetically. “Bit of a rough patch, hmm? I’m sorry. You all do have such love for each other though... We’ve seen you all fall apart yet come back together stronger before, and I’m sure once things return to normal you’ll all come to an understanding between you again?” He smiled gently as he patted Fenris’ arm. “Anders seems to be a real peacemaker amongst you; I’m sure he’s doing his best to bring you all back together, hmm? You’re fortunate to have him. And I can’t imagine Invictus ever walking away from any of you - least of all you; and as for Zevran - why, I think the man would go to the ends of the earth for you. He was terribly distraught when he was forced to remain behind at Adamant - and look how he tagged through practically on Ellowynne’s skirts to come meet you!” 

That made Fenris giggle, and laugh for a while before he started to go between crying and laughing. “Zevran...doesn’t….he loves Anders more ….he wouldn’t care if I left. None of them would.” he couldn’t stop himself from going on about the last few days and how it has been, even how he wished he’d died after falling out the window; until he sat there wiping at his face as the sudden fit of hysteria wound down as quickly as it had come upon him. “I’m sorry, I guess...I guess I was holding that in for a while,” the elf said as he kept his gaze anywhere but at the two men. After a moment he got up and headed for the door, eager to put that outburst behind himself and get some space before he embarrassed himself further.

Dorian moved to halt him, one hand lightly touching his shoulder. “My dear friend - I am so, so sorry,” he said sympathetically. “Here was I, wallowing in my own self-pity - and yet you have had it far worse than I. Is there anything we can do?”

“No..I’m sorry, I’m rather embarrassed by that just now,” Fenris said quietly as he glanced to his friend. “You’ve had a worse time I’d say,” he added before calming himself. “Forgive me, you just got out of bed and don’t need this to start your day. May I walk you somewhere or were you going to have lunch first?”

“I’ve just eaten; I was going to visit the College to see how Ellowynne’s studies are getting on. I’ve... sort of taken her under my wing, as it were, whilst her father’s been ill. I’ve never had an apprentice before but she’s really rather remarkably talented. Spirit Healer like her father - but that’s not surprising, really. I’ve no idea how she’s changed so much, but she’s an incredible young woman - it’s quite refreshing to teach her. She’s been turning a few heads amongst the male students - and not a few of the female ones, too,” he added with a smile. 

“I’ll walk you so far, I’ve had my fill of the college for the day. They asked me if I was there to enroll when I tried to see my si---, the researcher my sibling brought here to work on getting me back,” Fenris sneered as he waited for Dorian.

Dorian arched his eyebrow. “Your sister, you mean?” he asked drily. “Yes, I should imagine it was something of a shock to learn she was here. I gather from a couple of things she’s said that matters are not entirely amicable between you - but don’t worry; I’m the last person to pry into painful family matters.” He led the way to the doors, turning to blow a kiss to Meneris. “I’ll be back before dinner, _amatus_!” he called as he led Fenris down the stairs.

“The guards at the tower can be a little over-helpful at times,” he went on as they passed Anders’ old rooms where they’d stayed before Adamant. “I think they assume everyone visiting must be a new student - this College is the foremost centre for studying battle magic and the healing arts. We get mages travelling here from all over Thedas - even had a couple of my fellow countrymen turn up. You mustn’t blame them for mistaking you for a mage though - almost everyone who visits the college these days is a mage. Patients and their families generally just go directly to the infirmary, you see. Some travel quite long distances for healing. And of course they send out the travelling healers often to visit small villages and towns that are in need of healers. We had a group of three return from Crestwood just after you returned, in fact. I shouldn’t be surprised if Ellowynne elects to become one of them when she has graduated from the College - can’t imagine she’d be content to just sit around at home twiddling her thumbs.”

Fenris coughed to get the magister’s attention as he held up his hand and let a small flame dance in his palm. “They weren’t mistaken.”

Dorian halted and stared at the flame in surprise. They were standing in the middle of the great hall; the few members of the Chargers who were still here paid no attention as the magister started then stared at Fenris.

“My word,” Dorian said softly, then looked down again at the flame. “Well, it’s clear now just who Pin inherited her magic from.”

Fenris closed his palm and nodded. “I’d rather not have learned of this but ...well, now I know. I do not want to enroll at the college. I’ve never been good at learning from books after learning to read, it frustrates me. I’m grown, and I’d be unhappy there. I do need to learn to control it however.” 

Dorian nodded. “Yes; you have reasonably good control to produce a small flame here - but I should think you would lose it rather swiftly were you to get angry. Tell me - what other elemental forms can you control, or is this the extent thus far?”

“My control is dubious...especially when I am...emotional. So far ice and your double taught me to call lightning. I’ve got a little bit of healing ability but I’m no Spirit Healer,” Fenris replied as he glanced to his friend. 

“Yes, well, despite the remarkable number of Spirit Healers we seem to have acquired here, it’s a very rare talent,” replied Dorian. “And even then, the number we have here, I can count on the fingers of one hand - and three of them are in your family,” he added. “Anders, Ellowynne, Pin - then there’s a couple who work in the infirmary. Parcival is incredibly talented as a healer and first-rate - but he’s no Spirit Healer, alas. I think if you had been, it would have showed itself far, far earlier.” He sighed. “I do wish that Hal had lived. I think he was second only to Anders for ability and knowledge. I... I know you had a lot of troubles and difficulty around he and Arden, but... I do wish they’d survived and returned with us.”

“I don’t want to talk about them please.” Fenris said quickly, before turning towards the College again. He was quiet as he walked, not wanting to think about either of them when he was already in feeling out of sorts. He’d grieve Hal in his own time but he couldn’t think on them yet.

“I’m sorry, _amicus_ ,” said Dorian gently. “Ellowynne is... much the same.”

“She was enamored of Hal from the first meeting. I just...not yet. I can’t think of that yet or I’ll be absolutely no good to anyone,” Fenris replied as they walked. He glanced at Dorian as he considered telling him about his attempt to see Varania. “I...I was trying to reach my sister. I wished only to speak to her, but our past makes her sure I only wish to do harm. She said only if you and Anders were present, but I...I don’t want anyone to witness what I have to say. It would be hard enough to see her, try and find closure without others present. I have yet to return to Anders’ rooms to see if she replied to my last note. I don’t know if I want a reply, or what I’ll do if she still wants witnesses.” 

“ _Amicus_ , I can certainly understand that. However... when my father decided to follow after me and deceived me into a meeting, Meneris came with me. I... wasn’t sure I wanted him to see that - but it was rather heartening to have someone there who was entirely on my side, even though Dumat knows I wanted no witnesses at the time. But afterwards... I was very glad he was there.” He halted and stilled Fenris with a touch. “Fenris... I can see this means a great deal to you. I am more than willing to accompany you - and I swear I shall never breathe a word of what transpires between the two of you.”

“It’s not you I was worried about, after all you know this pain too well,” Fenris admitted slowly. “None of them understand, and I can see them speaking of what could happen to Zevran or Invictus in an effort to help when this ...this is something that pains me, has for years and I fear how I would react if they spoke of whatever could transpire between Varania and I. If she insists on both of you being present, I may give up on trying.” 

“I understand,” nodded Dorian. “Would it help if I spoke to her myself and tried to persuade her of your good intentions? I may be able to talk her round and agree that Anders need not be present.” He smiled wrily. “I am not above telling a little white lie and suggesting that it could be detrimental to his heart. After all, I doubt any but those of us who were present yet know he has been fully restored to health - and after the nasty turn he had when he encountered her in the College before your return, I think perhaps she might reconsider.”

Fenris nodded, he was too overcome to speak at first. He’d already given up, expecting her not to budge on wanting both men there in case he was going to harm her. “Thank you _amicus_ , I truly don’t deserve your friendship.” He gave the other man a wan smile before looking away. “I am going to ask for my old rooms back, I need space still. Spacious as his rooms are, four people is a bit much. So may I check back with you later?” 

“Of course, my friend,” nodded Dorian. “I shall likely be in the teaching rooms, if Ellowynne is there; send a message to me if you need me and I’ll see that the guards let you up, alright?”

“I...am fine seeing you in your rooms or if you’d like to visit it would be good to have company. I ...I feel uneasy about visiting the College now.” Fenris looked down briefly. “I’ll come around after dinner if that’s alright?”

“That’s quite alright,” nodded Dorian. “Your original rooms in the keep, then - the ones near Anders’ rooms?”

“Yes, if they are still available. Assuming me wanting space doesn’t cause another row.” Fenris gave him another look before heading off to deal with the others and hopefully have some time to have a good cry and sleep after the last few days.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Invictus and Zevran finally have a chance to talk.

Anders sat on the edge of the bed and regarded Invictus and Zevran somewhat shamefacedly. 

“I’m sorry about how I was earlier,” he said, peering up at them from behind his dishevelled hair. Zevran had finally persuaded him to get dressed, and had taken up his usual favourite place in the window, one foot braced against the window frame and the other resting on the floor as he glanced up from the knife he held, halfway through mending the binding on the haft.

“It’s alright Anders, we’ve cleaned up and things are more or less normal now,” Vic said as he flipped through a book on transfiguration for something to do.

“Everything’s just been so... intense and... and unpleasant since Adamant,” sighed Anders, running a hand through his hair.

Just as Anders finished that thought, Invictus looked up to see Fenris in the archway to the sleeping area. He closed the book, and looked to the elf curiously.

“Unpleasant is one way I’d put it,” the elf remarked as he halted, taking them all in. 

Zevran had noticed him almost instantly, the assassin’s senses alerted immediately the door began to open, and had stilled his hands upon the knife, merely watching silently. Anders however started, flinching back on the bed as his head jerked up to stare at Fenris, one hand pressed over his heart.

“Maker’s breath, you startled me!” he exclaimed, a little breathless.

Fenris backed up and leaned against the wall, simply watching Anders and waiting for him to relax.

“Did you...manage what you set out to do love?” Vic asked quietly.

“No, she refused to see me without others present, Invictus,” Fenris answered tiredly.

Anders straightened slowly, staring up at Fenris. “Fen? You... look like you have something to say,” he said slowly, taking in the uneasy way the elf shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’ve asked for my old rooms back...because I need space to deal with things. Four of us in this suite will cause a fight or worse sooner or later. I...I do best when left to work things out on my own and frankly, I’m, too hurt ...too volatile to be cooped up in here with nothing to do but stare at the walls or read or anything for long. Since we’re not going back to Nevarra, I need space to think and to work on myself,” the elf admitted as he watched them, expecting his words to cause another row.

“If that’s what you need love, but know I don’t really like it. But I’d rather this honesty than you feeling resentful.” Vic said quietly.

Anders had a stricken expression on his face. “You... you’re... leaving? But... but not for good, right? This, this is only a temporary thing, you - just time to think?”

“I’m not even leaving Skyhold, I just need space to myself. I’m not just leaving this space never to return. Unless that breaks what you had us agree to?” Fenris asked warily.

Anders had wrapped his arms around himself and was hunched in a little, his eyes now somewhere around Fenris’ knees. “No,” he managed in a hushed voice. “N-no, it... I... no, it’s... fine,” he finally managed to choke out.

“If it's not alright, don’t keep that in Anders. You don’t sound alright about this,” Vic said with a glance between the two men.

Fenris barely held himself in check from snapping at Invictus, because he knew he’d lash out when there was no need for it. Though he was tired, and drained from his attempt to reach his sister.

“I’m just tired and... and maybe still a little off-kilter from this morning,” said Anders slowly, threading his hands into his hair. “I’m... no, I’m not happy, but... but I think I understand.”

Zevran stirred. “ _Mi cuore_ , his rooms are not far from yours,” he murmured. “And it is not as though you will be alone, hmm? There is Invictus, and I am still here. And though Ellowynne spends all her time in the College now, she has her old room next to yours still. You will not be alone.”

“I know, I know,” moaned Anders. “It still... look, I’m just a bit of a mess right now, alright? So much has happened, and now Fenris doesn’t want to stay here and - Maker, I hate all this.”

“Would you rather I stay, be unhappy and resentful? We are four grown men living in this suite and we have already gotten on each other’s nerves. If my request will harm you, I will...figure something out as not to break my word to weather what has happened with us,” Fenris said quietly. 

“No,” said Anders tersely, not looking up. “I get it. It doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it, but I get it. If you need to go, then... then just go.”

“I’m not leaving this moment, the room has to be cleaned and bedding replaced. Apologies, Anders,” Fenris said quietly before looking away.

Vic glanced at Zevran who hadn’t said much but had gotten closer to Anders, standing with the mage. He wanted to say something but decided to wait until he could speak to the Antivan alone.

Zevran crouched down by Anders’ feet and rested a hand lightly on the blond mage’s knee. “Anders?” he said softly.

“Just... just give me a moment, Zev,” Anders murmured. “I... could really use a drink.”

“ _Mi cuore_ , it is not even noon,” remarked the Antivan, glancing back at Invictus before returning his gaze to Anders. “But if that is your wish... wine, or something more?”

“Wine will be alright,” sighed Anders as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and his forehead upon his hands. “Maker. I can feel a splitting headache coming on.”

Zevran rose with a worried look; exchanging another glance with Invictus, he made his way to the drinks cabinet.

Vic watched Zevran as he poured wine just for the blond mage, and raised an eyebrow at the elf upon his return but said nothing. He was still tired from almost three days of fighting and he knew if he broached the subject he wanted to, it would be the end of things. Instead he glanced at the others, sad at how glum they all were.

Zevran handed Anders the glass of wine, then after a moment, retreated to his window seat once more, sensing Anders didn’t want anyone too close to him. The blond mage stared down into the glass of wine then sipped, slowly, not looking at anyone.

Zevran quirked an eyebrow at Invictus. He’d picked up on all the little clues in the mage’s demeanor and was well aware Invictus wanted to say something and was holding back. The Antivan busied himself instead with rebinding the haft of his knife; it had been fraying already, and it seemed that when his other self had wrestled to attack Anders, some of the binding had given way. He focused on the work of his hands, winding the cord evenly before binding it off. Then he pulled a whetstone from his belt pouch and ran it slowly along the edge, frowning at a small nick near the tip.

Anders finished the glass of wine, and set the empty glass on the bedside table. He was aware of both Fenris and Invictus standing there, and his brow furrowed in a frown. “Well... if you’re moving, I guess you have... things to do,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure how much of our stuff is over in our other rooms, below Meneris’ quarters. I know Ellowynne had all mine and her stuff here, and I guess most of Zevran’s things are here as well. Do you want any help?”

Fenris frowned at him, wondering why he felt as if he was getting hurried out. “I don’t know. I am not trying to go this very moment, unless ….” He dropped it and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he amended and fell quiet again.

“Love?” Vic asked as he tried to rub the elf’s shoulders and get him to relax.

“Nothing, its nothing. I don’t think the rooms are even ready. I’ll just sit here, if that’s alright,” Fenris replied tiredly.

Anders sat there, a finger twirling a strand of hair restlessly as he fidgeted, then he stood up. “I feel useless,” he said tersely. “I’m going to the College.”

Zevran looked up, startled. “ _Mi cuore_?” He stood and sheathed the dagger, turning towards Anders, but the mage shook his head.

“I don’t need an escort, Zevran,” he said brusquely. “I need fresh air, a chance to clear my head, and find something to do. If I sit here fidgeting then I’m going to go mad. We’ve been here for far too long and I’ve had nothing to do when I could be over there, teaching or... or something. But I can’t stay here in this atmosphere any longer or I’ll find myself saying something I’ll regret.” He reached for his staff and headed towards the door.

“Anders? Please don’t walk out angry, not after all we’ve done to get back together love. Talk to us please?” Vic asked as he noticed Fenris had leaned forward to fold his arms and rest his head as they spoke. It seemed like the Tevinter elf had a sense of resignation about him but he wanted to get Anders to open up before he snapped at them.

Anders halted, then glanced back. “What’s there to talk about, Vic?” he replied. “He’s right. We’ve been cooped up in this room, and it wasn’t meant for this many people. maybe it would have been better if I’d moved back to my other quarters near Meneris - but Wynne didn’t want me moved far from the infirmary in my state as I was, and I understand that. I’d willingly move back to the other rooms, but Fenris wants his own space. It feels like no matter how much we talk, we’re all drifting apart anyway. So rather than sit here with nothing to do or distract me, I’d rather go where my skills and talents are actually needed and where I’ll feel less like a useless parasite sitting here doing nothing, being tolerated by Meneris and doing nothing to earn my keep. I’m not a patient of the infirmary anymore, and I hate this... this whole being supported by people that I’m now beholden to for the roof over my head and the food on my table. So I’ll go to the college - and if they don’t need me I’ll go to the infirmary. But I won’t sit idly by here any longer.” 

He gestured to Zevran. “Zev has the right idea - he’s been training Callus, and I know Krem would just love him to take on more pupils.”

“I will stay then, Anders. Forget I even asked,” Fenris said as he watched the mage while he spoke. He put his head back down and waited for someone to lose their temper at him for changing his mind.

“Anders...please, calm down. Your heart is fine now but you’re really getting worked up. Can we just sit and talk? Where can we go that will make you feel better since you don’t want to go back to Nevarra? Do you want us to go to Ferelden soon? Talk to us, please instead of going out while so angry,” Vic asked as he glanced to Zevran for help.

The Antivan reached into his tunic and pulled out a letter. “I think when _mi cuore_ reads this, it may help him make up his mind,” he suggested as he held it out to Anders. “I took the liberty of sending one of my ravens to Delilah whilst staying up in the Rookery. I received a reply this morning.”

“Delilah?” exclaimed Anders. “Nathaniel’s sister? in Denerim? But... but why?”

“Read it and you will see,” replied Zevran. “An... old friend sends his greetings.”

Anders took the letter, setting aside his staff as he opened it. He scanned it hastily, and then a small, choked noise escaped him as he stumbled to the nearest chair and fell into it, his eyes tracing over the page again, and again. And then he burst into tears.

“Zevran, what did you do?” Vic asked warily while Fenris lifted his head and stared curiously but didn’t ask.

“It’s Pounce!” Anders cried as he clutched the letter to him. “He - he’s still alive! M-my c-c-cat - the one the Wardens made me give up, he - I, l - left him with Delilah before - I - he’s still alive, my Pounce!” He curled up, sobbing hard.

Zevran regarded him sympathetically. “It was very hard for Anders to give up his cat. I was not sure if he were even likely to still be alive, but I wrote to Delilah in hope. Anders was so ill when we returned to Adamant, and I... I just wanted to make him happy.” He sighed.”The cat was one of the few things that brought him happiness in the Deep Roads. Solona gave him to Anders, and the cat came with us on many expeditions. It... calmed him. The dark was not so bad as long as he had the cat. And I thought...” He sighed and looked down. “I just wanted him to be happy. The cat is very old... but he lives still.”

“Are you planning on getting this cat back?” Vic asked in confusion. 

Fenris put his head back down before he let his tongue get him in trouble. He was already unhappy but hearing the length Zevran had gone just to make Anders happy had set off another flare of jealousy, so he kept his mouth shut.

Anders looked up at Invictus hopefully. “Vic... can we go to Denerim? Stay there a while? We... we could rent a house there, whilst we decide what to do. There - there’s always work available in Denerim, and... and I could have Pounce back, or at least see him often.” He gave Vic his most pleading look. “Please, Vic?”

“I guess? I really have no interest in returning to Ferelden but I guess it's good a place as any,” Vic replied.

“I think I would not mind visiting Denerim again,” said Zevran thoughtfully. “I have not been there in quite a while. But Anders is quite right, you know - we would all find work to suit us quite easily. It is no Kirkwall - but there is always work in a city for resourceful men, no? And fewer blood mages in Denerim than Kirkwall either.” He chuckled.

“I suppose so, not sure what I’d do there but I’ll figure out something,” Vic replied while reaching up to squeeze Fenris’s shoulder, worried at the elf’s silence.

“Fen? Fenris?” asked Anders hopefully.

“What Anders?” the elf replied tiredly.

“Denerim. Would... would you want to live there for a while?” Anders asked, still clutching the letter to himself.

Fenris raised his head and shrugged. “If that’s where you all want to go, I agreed to stay with you,” the elf said before sitting up and staring at the table. “When do we leave?”

“We should wait until your mirror self and his companions can leave,” Anders sighed. “I know quite a number of the most senior mages at the college are working on it, as are Dorian and Var -” He checked himself before he could finish saying the name of Fenris’ sister. “Uh... and the guest researchers,” he finished more slowly. “And Ellowynne is the one who cast the actual portal to reach through to you - so I’m sure she should be able to help them open a new portal to send them all back. It’s just... a bit more tricky than if there’s a mage on the other side to reach through to, apparently. I couldn’t follow all the explanation when Wynne tried to tell me - I can’t cast portals myself, after all.”

“I’m not worried about waiting for them to go, I wish they were gone already,” Fenris snarled before checking himself. “It doesn’t matter where I go, just tell me when we’re going so I can pack what’s here.” he said resignedly.

“Love what’s wrong?” Vic asked quietly.

“I don’t want to say things I’ll regret; drop it Invictus,” Fenris said tersely. “I need air, you all make your plans for Denerim,” he said before heading for the door.

Anders held still; he had gone slightly pale, his lips thinned as he kept his eyes averted. He could feel his anger rising again, but he bit his tongue and said nothing. For someone who kept saying he wanted to make things work, Fenris’ body language and words seemed to scream at Anders that he wanted none of this, and he was having to fight hard against the urge to snap at the elf, tell him to get out if he really found it so hard to tolerate their company and seemed so resentful of anything they suggested.

He found his eyes meeting Zevran’s gaze, and the Antivan opened his mouth as though to say something. Anders gave him a small shake of the head, and Zevran closed his mouth again, returning to the window seat to finish sharpening his blade.

“Fenris, please don’t go like this. If you aren’t happy about the chance to move to Denerim why won’t you say so?” Vic pushed as the elf paused at the door.

“I’m outvoted, if I say no where does that leave me Invictus? Alone here or in that damned house in Nevarra? If I say no, what does that leave me? Or any of us? It means we don’t even make it a week into the year that Anders set before us to work things out. Maybe I’ll come to like Denerim, maybe I won’t. But if I’m the only one who isn’t excited about it, I am not going to cause another fight over it,” Fenris replied tersely.

“Your opinion matters too love, please come and talk to us,” Vic pleaded.

“Invictus, I love you but right now...I can’t. I just need to walk and cool my temper. Or fly or practice in the yard. When I am not so wound up, I will speak but forcing me right now will lead to words I will regret and actions that will undo all that we fought for the other day,” the elf said tiredly before letting the handle go.

“But this is what we talked about - not running away. If you don’t talk to us, we can’t work through this, Fenris,” Vic said quietly.

The elf counted to ten in his head before he spoke, to keep himself from yelling or losing his temper. “I do not care for Ferelden, I don’t know anything about Denerim, and I don’t really want to go there. I don’t want to leave Callus and Pin, though they don’t like me much right now.” He glanced at Zevran before returning his gaze to his oldest love. “I’m also irritated that my request to just have a room down the hall was met with anger and then you all turn around with let’s move to Ferelden! I’m sure I’ll find something I like about it eventually but right now, I am not happy with it. However I agreed to work things out, and not run away. So I’ll stay here Invictus, and talk.” Fenris returned to his chair and stared at the brunet mage, and made a _get on with it_ gesture since Vic was so eager for him to talk.

“Don’t be like this, no one is forcing you to go anywhere! We just asked you what you thought. It's not like we’re going to pick up and go right now. Fenris, you said you wanted things to work, that you'd talk. But you’re doing the same things. What is it that’s hurting you love? Talk to us… please?” Vic pleaded.

“I am trying to to be honest with you all, or would you rather I hold on to how I feel and not speak or lie and get dragged by the hair again?” Fenris asked quietly, keeping contact with Vic, not even looking at Zevran or Anders.

“No, I’d rather not have you lie to us love,” Vic replied quietly. “Why don’t we all take a minute and relax before we get into a fight again. Do you need a minute?” he asked.

“No...I just wanted to take a short walk, but I’ll stay, Invictus,” Fenris replied as he looked down and curbed his temper, and fell silent.

Anders glanced down at the letter in his hands, smoothing it carefully before folding it and tucking it into his tunic. “I should write to Delilah myself - thank her for looking after Pounce for me all this time,” he said quietly. “Even if we don’t go live in Denerim - I still want to go visit her and Pounce. Now I know he’s still alive. He’s very old now, and I... I might never get another chance.” He didn’t look up at any of them as he spoke.

“Don’t do that, Anders, we have made no decision,” Vic said tiredly before he looked to Fenris. “Love go take you walk - and Anders, you wanted to go as well; I think we could use a short break from each other.” 

Anders nodded, stiffly. “I need air,” he agreed. “I’ve hardly left this room except for when we went to bring the cure for the Calling to the other me. I think it’s getting to me.” He rose to his feet and reached for his staff. “I’ll be back for dinner.” He headed to the door and paused, glancing back at the others. His eyes went briefly to Zevran, then he left.

Fenris left without a backward glance, heading towards the valley where he used to go to think. He was angrier than when he’d returned and knew he needed a break.

Zevran bowed his head back to the knife in his hands, running the whetstone slowly along its edge before testing the edge with a brief touch of his thumb; frowning, he continued to sharpen it. “I believe you had something you wished to say to me, Invictus,” he said quietly after a few minutes, not looking up.

“Yes, but I am unsure how you’ll receive it,” Vic said warily.

Zevran did look up at that, his hands stilling. He tilted his head to one side, and then he slid the dagger back into its sheath and pocketed the whetstone. He turned to face Invictus. “Go ahead,” he said. “You have my fullest attention.”

“And that frightens me even more,” Vic said before gathering his thoughts, and marking an escape route. “Just something I’ve observed but I’m sure you won’t like it. I’ve noticed the expression on Fenris’ face as you dote on Anders, call him a pet name and reassure him you’ll never leave him. I heard him saying as I brought him back after the fall how he didn’t think ...he thought you would not care if he had died. It may have been rambling while he was stunned but I don’t think so. I think he’s sure that things will not heal between you two. I know its his fault, he’s very, very aware its his fault things changed but it doesn’t lessen the sting of seeing you constantly at Anders side, doting on him and use of the pet name, when he’s Fenris to you all the time. I’m not arguing, or advocating for him; but its something I’ve noticed especially before we split off. I want you two to be happy again, so just think on it is all I ask,” Vic finished and tensed, sure the elf was going to snap at him.

Zevran’s eyes had indeed narrowed as Invictus spoke. “So,” he drawled softly. “I have reassured Anders constantly throughout our entire journey to Adamant that no matter what may befall us, I will never abandon him. Since Fenris returned, there has been nothing but fighting between us all, and he only needs the reassurance more. yet you think I should deny him that to spare Fenris’ feelings, when Fenris is the reason Anders needs such reassurance?” His voice dropped a tone. “Fenris cannot bear to hear me call him _carissimi_ \- but I should not call Anders _mi cuore_ , merely to spare Fenris?”

He rose to his feet, turned and flung open the window. “He thinks I did not care when he fell? Did neither of you see that it was I who held Anders back, held him from falling?” he snapped. “Would he rather I had let him fall, merely for me to stand around uselessly, unable to help him?”

He put his hand to his shoulder, rubbing it slowly through his shirt. “Anders has not yet seen, but I wrenched my arm badly when I caught him and held him as he healed Fenris. But do not doubt that I care if he lives or dies, Invictus. I care. I care too much - but I will not hold myself back and hurt Anders merely to salve Fenris’ feelings! You ask me too much! What of _my_ feelings? I may not show them - I may play the fool, laugh, make light to others, but believe me, I _feel_ , Invictus, and you have no idea how badly he has hurt me! You do not understand what it meant to me, to let him into my heart - I have been betrayed by those I loved so often, and now he has done it also!”

He took a step closer to Invictus. “When I was bought by the Crows, I was one of several children they took in. Only I and one other survived that training - _children_ , Invictus! Taliesen and I were more than brothers. We would have died for one another. And when Rinna joined us - I knew such happiness as I could never describe to you. We three were inseparable, and I loved my Rinna as surely as day follows night, more than life itself. And when Taliesen came to me, told me that she had betrayed me, I was devastated. He showed me the proof he had been given, told me that we had been ordered to do it - and I did.” He stared at Invictus, his breathing becoming ragged. “I buried my knife in her heart, Invictus. She was still protesting that she loved me as she died, and... and I laughed. Laughed, at my love. My heart. I....spat on her corpse. And then... then Taliesen told me it had all been a lie. A test of my loyalty. I had killed the one thing in my life that made my wretched existence worthwhile, and all for a lie. Taliesen had betrayed me.”

He slumped down onto the window seat as Invictus stared at him.

“I wanted to die, then,” Zevran went on quietly. “A mission came up - to kill two Wardens in Ferelden. I knew the reputation of the Wardens; I knew that taking the mission would mean my death. So I took it. I hoped they would kill me. But... Solona spared me. And so I followed her. And one day... we were ambushed. Taliesen had been sent to fetch me back to the Crows, or kill me if I refused. And I....”

He bowed his head. “I killed him. He who had been dearer than a brother to me. He had betrayed me twice, and... and I wished, for a while, that he had killed me. It was Solona who pulled me out of that in the end. But... even she betrayed me. It... it takes much for me to give my heart, Vic. But Fenris... has also betrayed me. Maybe not as much as Taliesen or Solona, but... Vic, I cannot take this anymore. How often must I allow him to hurt me, merely to save _his_ feelings? He has wounded me more than you could ever know. He claims to love me but... but I do not feel that he does. He thinks I would not care if he died but... I have felt that he would not mourn me either, Vic. And I am heartsick and weary, and Anders has never hurt me. Is it any wonder that I dote upon him, as you say? He will not harm me. I am safe with him. And that is why I will follow him to the very ends of the world. Because Anders has never betrayed me - but if he ever did, I think I will not wish to live after.” 

“I didn’t say you don’t feel, Zevran, or ask you to throw over your hurt for his feelings. I can see this is painful, but you should tell him this and not string him along if your heart is not in it. If you think he loves you less? You are a damned fool. He would grieve you, maybe less now that he knows your affection is lessened for him, but he loves you. He called you _carissimi_ the other night, or did you forget? If you really think he cares so little, why did you even bother with taking his ring back? He couldn’t even take his back from you, so that should say _something_ about how he feels still. I only brought it up because I know he never will after the last couple of days. Or forget I said anything, go on believing this and in a year break his heart and I’ll pick up the pieces,” Vic finished quietly, disturbed by their conversation. 

Zevran was staring at the floor. “Perhaps we should not let this go further, then,” he said quietly. “Perhaps this was all a mistake. I do not think you wish to be married to me either, Invictus. Perhaps I should give you both back your rings and have done with it. But I would ask you to let me remain with Anders, for you may as well kill me here where I sit if you would have me part from him.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel or whether I wish to be married to you. I married _all_ of you in good faith, knowing full well you did not care for me as deeply as you did Fenris or as much as Anders. I don’t own him, I can’t allow you to stay with him or not. I suggest you talk to both of them or this will fester. Both of you walking around... no, _you_ walking around assuming he loves you less because of your past trauma and loving _him _less. I can tell you that he loves you deeply, and confirming what he feared? Broke his heart. But what do I know? After all, you don’t think I want to be married to you either.” Vic got himself a drink and returned quietly. “I wish I hadn’t said anything...but you should at least tell him so he has an idea of why you’re so hurt.”__

__“Both you and he act around me as though we were not married,” said Zevran quietly. “If he loves me as deeply as you say, then he has a very strange way of showing that love. To me - but also to Anders. His behaviour just now - it makes no difference to him whether we stay here, go to Denerim or return to Nevarra! He acts jealous and resentful of me, and he could see what Denerim means for Anders! Could he not be happy for him? Could he not muster some enthusiasm for him? At least to try? But no, he cannot wait to get away from us all, and when he speaks it is in tones of resentment! Vic, he does not act as a husband should! To you, to Anders - to me! How can I believe he cares for me when he made one attempt to touch me, then bedded me that night - and now cannot wait to get away from him? Is that all I am good for now? A quick fuck when he needs it? Is that all?” He clutched his hair with a hand as he stared hard at the ground. “Where is he, when I should be saying these things to him, eh? He cannot bear to be around me! And why should I not say these things to you, my husband? Maybe I should have said nothing! Maybe I should have just taken my chastisement like a good little brat, eh?”_ _

__He lifted his head just as Invictus opened his mouth to speak. He pointed at the mage with a trembling hand. “Do not deny it,” he whispered. “It is clear what your intention was. You have ever loved him the first and dearest, and I have never begrudged you that - but it makes you blind to his faults at times, Invictus, and you always take his side until he does something to hurt _you_. So, you will chide me for hurting his feelings - until he does something to you that you cannot overlook. Well, I tell you this - _this_ is what he has done to me, to your husband - and I need you to see this, to understand! He will not hear me; all he will think of is how poor Fenris has everyone angry at him and try to run away again - you _saw_ how little that promise really means to him!”_ _

__Invictus stared at the elf sadly and shook his head. “I was not chiding you. I merely wished to bring this up on an off chance you could just hear a concern in our marriage and I profoundly regret speaking Zevran. Forget I brought this up, or not. Whenever Fenris returns I’ll keep quiet. I apologise for the hurt I’ve caused you to remember.” He sighed as he took a spot by the window. “Believe me, I know his faults, Zevran, I know them well and I tried just now to get him to act right and just talk to us but I failed. I’m sorry.”_ _

__Zevran turned away, drawing his legs up to sit on the windowsill again, resting his head against the glass - rather like Anders had, the previous day. He gazed out of the window, not seeing anything, silent; as though they hadn’t spoken. As Vic stared at him, he realised he could only recall two other occasions when he’d seen the Antivan in a similar state - one was when he was first confronted by the realisation that Solona was alive, and the other had been when Anders died. The elf appeared to have simply become absent._ _

__Vic fell silent as they sat, turning only at the door opening and Fenris returning. He shifted to the bed in case the elf wanted to speak to Zevran. He watched as Fenris approached and curled up next to the other elf and rested his head against his husband’s leg._ _

__If Zevran were aware of his presence, he gave no sign, even though Fenris’ hair must have been tickling the Antivan’s arm, wrapped around his knees, and it wasn’t exactly easy to ignore an elf as tall and muscular as Fenris leaning against him. And yet, Zevran seemed not to be ignoring Fenris; it was more a case, Vic suspected, that the Antivan was simply unaware of anything right now. His eyes were empty, slightly glazed, and he stared at nothing, his face blank and empty, retreated into himself._ _

__Fenris frowned at the lack of response and cautiously touched the other elf’s thigh. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” he asked._ _

__Zevran continued to gaze at nothing, only his soft breathing and occasional flicker of his eyelashes as he blinked giving any sign the Antivan were alive. His golden eyes were empty and unfocused, and as Fenris stared at him he realised there was the drying trace of a single tear upon Zevran’s cheek._ _

__“Zevran? What’s wrong?” he asked as he sat up and made sure the windows were shut and locked before turning to Invictus._ _

__“What happened after I left? Why is he like this?” he asked the brunet._ _

__Invictus sighed and returned his stare. “I think... some of the stuff happening right now is bringing back memories for him. Bad ones. He... went away like that a bit before you came back.” He glanced at the Antivan. He didn’t like keeping the whole truth from Fenris - but at the same time, Zevran’s pain and his past wasn’t his story to share._ _

__“Should I leave him alone?” Fenris asked as he moved away from the other elf._ _

__“I think being there when he comes around would be good, love,” Vic said as he passed Fenris a drink and resumed his seat._ _

__“What happened? He’s only been like this when Anders died,” Fenris said with a worried look to the elf. “Did I do this to him?”_ _

__Vic swallowed and glanced at Zevran again. “He was like this when we ran into Solona,” he reminded Fenris. “There’s been... a lot going on. Between you being missing - and Maker, but he was a mess over that, Fenris, you have no idea - he insisted he wanted to stay at Adamant alone, if need be, in case you somehow found your way back there; sat vigil where the portal closed for three nights.... but that, Anders’ health, all of this - and the state he was in after you brought him back from the Rookery? Maybe... maybe he just finally hit _his_ limits. Even Zevran has them, even though he might try to insist he doesn’t sometimes,” he added wrily._ _

__The Antivan seemed oblivious to them discussing him. His eyes were half-lidded now, as though he were slowly drifting into sleep._ _

__“Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but after his confession I have a hard time believing he even missed me, Invictus,” Fenris said sadly. He went to the bed and pulled off his boots, tunic and everything but his trousers before stretching out. “I’m going to get a nap, if he comes around let me know if I should leave,” he added before curling up with a pillow and closing his eyes._ _

__Zevran’s head slowly nodded forward slightly as his eyes slid fully closed; one hand relaxed enough to fall to Zevran’s side as the Antivan finally appeared to drift into a deep sleep, still resting against the window._ _

__Invictus carefully picked the Antivan elf up and put him in bed next to Fenris. “Look, it would probably help things if you were here and with him. You walked in and tried to cuddle up to him, this won’t kill you.”_ _

__“If he wakes up and doesn’t remember who he is or where he is, it just might,” Fenris replied as he felt the bed dip, the Antivan sinking into the pillows without stirring._ _

__“Just see what happens when he wakes up or comes around. I’ll be back in a bit, I wanted to check on the other you; whatever Anders did seemed pretty brutal,” Vic said before he pressed a kiss to Fenris’ temple and headed off. Zevran hadn’t stirred as he’d laid him in the bed, and from the way he’d felt limp in Vic’s arms he certainly had _seemed_ deeply asleep - but then that didn’t necessarily mean anything where the Antivan was concerned._ _

__The door closed silently behind him._ _


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things finally reach a crux between the 4 - but maybe there's a glimmer of hope.

He found his way back to Leto’s rooms fairly easily. He hesitated outside the door, remembering the terrible state the elf had been in after whatever it was that Anders had done to him.

It was their Anders who opened the door finally when he knocked. The blond mage stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed in perplexion. “I’m sorry, can I... help you?” he asked slowly. 

“Hello, I’m Invictus Hawke. I wanted to check on Leto if that’s alright?” 

“Another Hawke. Huh,” said the blond slowly as he eyed Vic. “You... wait. Invictus. That... I’ve heard the name Invictus before.” He frowned and put a head to his forehead, then grimaced. “Damn it. It’s gone again.” He glanced up again, and managed a small rueful smile. “Sorry - I’m not mad, honest. Just... a few memory problems. Have we... met? You’ll have to remind me - and I probably wasn’t at my best.”

“Briefly, when you and our Anders were ...not doing well,” Vic said as he watched the blond mage struggle with recalling him. “If he’s asleep or not well, I can come back.”

Anders drew back and gestured for him to enter. “He’s... well... I won’t say he’s well, because that would be a lie, but... he’s awake, at least. Maker, what did your Anders even do to him? He practically pissed himself when he opened his eyes and saw me - I’m surprised you couldn’t hear the screams from here! Freaked Zevran out terribly - and frightened the living daylights out of Dorian and I.”

“Something to do with breaking blood magic, unsure exactly what he was doing. But Leto won’t hurt anyone again I think,” Vic said as he entered.

Leto was sitting in a seat by the window, staring out, as Vic entered. Dorian was sitting on the end of the bed, Zevran sitting crosslegged on the floor in front of him as the Tevinter mage ran a comb slowly through the long pale gold hair then took up three strands and began to braid them, looking a little uncertain of himself. He glanced up as Anders closed the door quietly behind Vic.

“Leto?” called Anders gently. “You have a visitor.” He went and sat next to Dorian and took the strands of hair from him. “No, outside in - see, take this strand, lay it between the other two - now this one - see? It’s simple.”

“For you, maybe,” grumbled Dorian. “I’ve never braided someone’s hair in my life!”

Invictus stood there, uncertain that Leto would even acknowledge him, but the look the other elf gave him broke his heart a little. “Leto?”

“What do you want Invictus? Came to see your husband’s handiwork for yourself?” he asked hollowly before turning back to stare out the window.

“I came to check on you,” Vic replied with a glance to the other men. Zevran was staring up at him, his head tilted to one side as Dorian attempted to master putting a simple braid in his hair.

“It was quite disturbing, no?” said Zevran quietly. “I am not sure how your Anders was able to do that. And after _I_ was the one who held a knife to his throat, as well....”

“You weren’t yourself, Zevran,” said Dorian softly, his eyes on his fingers as they clumsily plaited the strands of hair. “Anyone could see that.”

“I am more myself now though,” said Zevran. “My thanks to your...” His eyes flicked to Invictus’ rings, then back to his face. “...husband.”

“I’ll pass on your thanks when he returns to our rooms. It seems I’m intruding, so I’ll take my leave of you. Good day gentlemen.” Vic gave them a respectful nod as he turned to go.

“Not at all,” said Zevran, gesturing with a hand though he kept his head still. “Dorian is merely having a lesson in how to groom one’s loved ones’ hair. Pay no attention to Leto’s bad temper; he has some just cause I suppose, though in truth, a few minutes such as that do not really compare to what I or Dorian experienced - but to experience that much all at once I suppose would be disconcerting to anyone.”

“Zevran,” said Anders quietly. “Remember what we talked about.”

The Antivan sighed. “Very well. I shall say no more on the matter.”

Anders glanced up at Vic. “I don’t think any of us are really close to what you might say back to normal. I have ten years of memories missing, Zevran’s still recovering from having the blood magic broken, Leto is... well. And Dorian -”

“Dorian would simply like to go back home,” said the magister, not looking up. “And whilst people have been very kind to me under trying circumstances, this is not our Skyhold and I’m firmly wishing your Fenris had never brought us here. Though I suppose I cannot really complain - at least Anders is no longer suffering his Calling and the blood magic affecting Zevran has been broken. But... I have no wish to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary.” 

“There are mages working around the clock to get you home, and I dare say Fenris is eager for you to get back home as well,” Vic said quietly. 

“Of course he’s ready to get rid of us, he’s broken everything and now he wants to go back to his life like nothing happened!” Leto said tersely. “I’m sure you’re all tired of your doubles here, _Hawke_ ,” the elven warrior snapped.

“Broken everything?” said Zevran softly. “Leto... the only one who broke things was you. Do not blame Fenris for opening my eyes to what you did to Dorian and I. And can you truly tell me you prefer Anders still to be trapped in his own mind by that demon? He is himself once more. Is that truly broken?”

“Sorry,” said Anders apologetically to Invictus. “It’s been basically like this since Leto woke up. I’m not sure exactly what we’re going to do about it - but for myself, I’m rather glad Fenris decided to free me. Can’t say I was too keen on having a sword shoved through my back, or being stabbed in the throat - but, you know, beggars can’t be choosers and it beats being stuck screaming in the back of my own mind and watching as my possessed body killed people I cared about one by one. And definitely the blood magic bit. That... um... well. I didn’t get a chance before, but please assure Fenris that I, for one, am bloody glad he came to our world. Because I think on the whole I rather prefer to be alive with memories missing than - than _that_.”

“I can assure you he’s not happy right now but I’ll pass on your regards, Anders,” Vic replied before heading back to his own unhappy scene.

He found their own Zevran much as he’d left him, lying still in slumber upon the bed, sleeping softly. Anders appeared not to have returned yet.

Fenris’ eyes opened when he heard the door open, but he didn’t get up when he saw Invictus; he merely closed his eyes again and sighed.

“Did he wake up at all?” Vic asked quietly.

“No, and I’m not taking a chance on waking him. I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but if he starts in on me about Denerim...I don’t know what I’ll do,” Fenris said as he laid there, unmoving as he felt the other elf stir slightly, rolling close to him in his sleep, draping one arm across Fenris’ hip without realizing it then sinking back into a deep sleep once more.

“I don’t get it,” said Vic slowly as he sat down. “What _does_ it matter if we go to Denerim, Fenris? If we’re not going back to Nevarra the moment we get that lot back to their own world, then does it really matter where we go? You surely don’t want to hang around here, do you? For all he had perhaps an unfortunate way of putting it, Anders was right - we’re not really much use around here, love. I can’t imagine all this sitting around talking is doing much for either of us, either. And Denerim isn’t that far away - only a couple of weeks if we take horses, maybe less. Wouldn’t it be worth it for a little while, at least?”

“You’re right it doesn’t matter. Because I couldn’t even ask for some space to get my head right but you all will happily go to Denerim. I have never liked Ferelden and it didn’t seem like I had an option to say no. So I’ll go, and hope I can learn to deal with it,” Fenris said tiredly.

“Love, what has happened to you in Ferelden that you’re so against this?” Vic asked quietly.

Fenris clutched the pillow and shook his head no. “Nothing happened to me in Ferelden. I just don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m staying in the rooms and I’ll go to Denerim whenever we go. Its what all of you wanted.” He fell quiet again, not wanting to keep talking about it.

“Where else would you want to go then? You gave no suggestions,” Vic said tiredly.

“Unless his cat is there, I doubt I could talk anyone into going to Rivain. So why suggest it?” Fenris rolled over and tried to get comfortable instead of falling into another argument.

“Fine, be that way,” Vic said before heading out to the main room to sit by the fire. He was getting into a mood and didn’t want to argue either.

Anders returned perhaps an hour later, looking tired but more at peace than he had when he’d gone out earlier. He was carrying his tunic under one arm, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and he had an impressive bruise across the back of one wrist. He set his staff in its customary place, threw the tunic into the clothes hamper, and started stripping his shirt off as he made his way towards the bathing chamber to reveal several other purpling bruises on his ribs, though they seemed not to bother him. He pulled the leather tie from his hair and ran a hand through it; it was darkened from sweat.

“Maker, I need a bath after that,” he groaned as he rolled his shoulders. “Hello, love. Sorry about my mood earlier. I definitely needed to get out for a bit.”

“It’s fine, glad you got out for a bit,” Vic said as he glanced over his shoulder at Anders then turned back to look at the fire.

“Should have done it sooner, really,” replied Anders. He paused and looked over at the sleeping area. He frowned slightly, then glanced away. He wasn’t sure if both elves were sleeping or awake, but he didn’t really want to get into another fight if it turned out Fenris was ignoring them. He fingered one of the bruises on his ribs and winced slightly. “Going to feel that tomorrow,” he muttered as he headed for the bathing chamber door.

“Do you want a potion when you come out of the bath?” Vic asked distractedly.

Anders shook his head. “I think I should have some elfroot salve around here somewhere though, which probably wouldn’t go amiss.” He grinned ruefully. “I think I need to do this more often; some of those youngsters are rather good at the staff and I’m not in my twenties any more. I hadn’t realised how out of condition I’ve slowly gotten since my heart was weakened. I don’t have that as an excuse any more though, and I think I need to remind those kids that I used to be a Grey Warden. I certainly won’t go so easily on them next time! Though encouraging three on one at the end there probably wasn’t a smart move.”

He headed into the bathing chamber and started to pump water to fill the tub, leaving the door slightly open.

Vic half listened as Anders bathed, not moving when the former warden came out with a towel around his hair, another around his waist, and in a much better mood. Invictus wasn’t sure what to do with the two elves in the other room but he knew leaving once Anders was back wasn’t an answer.

“Have you ordered food yet, or shall I call for a tray?” asked Anders as he found a clean pair of pants and tugged them on, then hunted through for one of the sleeveless shirts he occasionally favoured in warmer weather. “Probably should wake the others before it gets here.”

“I haven’t eaten, wasn’t hungry to be truthful,” Vic replied as he kept staring at the fire. “Order if you wish, Anders,” he added tiredly.

Anders had pulled out a small tub of elfroot salve and was smearing it on over the bruises on his ribs but at Vic’s words he paused to stare at the other mage. “Vic... did something happen whilst I was out?” he asked slowly.

“Everything seemed to finally get to Zevran and Fenris seems to have just given up and agreed to move to Denerim. They’re both sleeping, so I let them be for awhile,” Vic replied.

Anders glanced back towards the sleeping area. “Fenris just ‘giving up’ is never good,” he said as he shook his head. “Maker, I could really do without him hoarding up more resentment over this, of all things. I _know_ what he’s like when he just seems to give up. He did it right before we left for Adamant too.”

He sighed, finished slathering on the elfroot salve, then tugged the shirt on. “I’ll order food. And Maker, but I hope we’re not about to have another lousy evening.” He headed to the door and looked around for a passing servant.

Once Anders returned, Vic glanced at the blond. “Maybe just giving up isn't the right way to put it. But he’s agreed to go, and to stay in the suite,” Vic replied quietly as he refilled his glass and made his way to sit with Anders at the table.

“I just wish they could be sent back right now. That Dorian is unhappy and Leto...well, the only emotion he showed me was anger and then he just went back to staring out the window while Dorian was trying to learn to braid Zevran’s hair. Their Anders will be fine I think.” Vic took a chance and leaned against Anders, hopeful he wouldn’t move away.

Anders turned and pressed a kiss to Vic’s cheek as he filled his own glass from the bottle he’d set on the table. “And their Zevran?” he asked quietly. “He’d been under the influence of blood magic for quite a while, from what I can feel. Likely Vengeance used it on him when things got to an unbearable point for Zevran and he wanted to back out. For all he’s an assassin, Zevran has never _enjoyed_ his work - and certainly never tortured for the sake of it. I can’t believe that Zevran was really that much different. He may be good at killing - but he doesn’t take it lightly.”

“He seemed better, but I didn’t stay long after Leto snapped at me. I just needed to get back here and think,” Vic said tiredly.

“Were Fenris and Zevran asleep then?” asked Anders, before taking a sip of his wine.

“Zevran was, I think Fenris fell asleep while I was gone,” Vic replied. “I might call it an early night myself.”

“Won’t be easy squeezing us all in to the bed, but I’m not sleeping in a chair again - that was not pleasant to wake up to in the morning,” replied Anders absently. “Speaking of bed, we should wake them up - I don’t think either of them ate properly today, if at all.”

“Go on, I’ll listen out for the tray being delivered,” Vic said as he sat up and stretched. “Hopefully its something hearty because I could eat a bronco.”

“No idea; I told them to send up whatever’s available as long as it isn’t fish,” shrugged Anders as he rose and made his way over to the bed.

He circled around to Zevran first and laid a hand gently on the Antivan’s shoulder as he called Zevran’s name quietly. There was no response; he shook him gently. “Zevran? Come on, sleepyhead. You must be hungry.” He stared down at the sleeping elf. “Zevran? Come on, love... you need to wake up and eat!”

He frowned as Zevran still didn’t stir. “Zevran... come on, please love! Open your eyes?” He shook the Antivan harder, growing worried. “Zevran? Zevran!”

“Why don’t you try a rejuvenate instead of getting worked up. If he still doesn't wake up then we’ll panic,” Vic said as he approached the two elves.

Anders laid a hand against the Antivan’s forehead and channelled a quick rejuvenate into him. The blond elf jerked, his eyes flying open as his hand snapped up to grasp Anders’ wrist hard, the golden eyes flat and empty.

“Zevran, it’s me! It’s Anders,” the mage said hastily.

Slowly the elf released Anders’ wrist, though the empty look didn’t leave his eyes as he lay there. After a moment, he slowly sat up.

“Maker, you don’t sleep as deeply as that normally, Zev,” said Anders. “Are you alright, love?”

“What... what time is it?” asked Zevran slowly, his voice a little hoarse.

“About an hour until sunset, I think,” replied Anders. “Dinner should be here in a little while. You need to eat.”

Invictus was leaning against the doorway watching them quietly. He glanced at Fenris but didn’t move to wake the other elf.

Zevran moved to rise and nearly overbalanced. Anders caught him. “Easy, love! Wow, you were so far under, Zevran. Must have really needed the sleep, huh?” He guided the elf towards the other room, the Antivan seemingly still heavily sleep-befuddled. “Wake Fenris would you, love?” Anders added to Vic as he steered Zevran towards the dining table.

“I’ll try, he’s usually not that deep a sleeper either,” Vic said as he sat next to the Tevinter elf and shook him. 

“Hey, wake up love. Dinner will be here soon,” he said as he shook the elf again.

Fenris batted at his hand and rolled over again. “Not hungry, let me sleep,” he mumbled before curling up in the covers.

“You’ll be grumpy if you don’t eat Fenris, you know this.” Vic tried to reach for the covers again but withdrew his hand at the low growl he heard. 

“I’m tired, Invictus, just let me sleep. Leave me something and I’ll eat later,” he said before curling away on the far edge of the bed.

“Nope, you’re not doing this. Out of that bed Fenris and eat something then you can sleep all you want,” Vic said as he whipped the covers off and braved a very surly elf.

Fenris got up reluctantly and headed in to make himself a plate, only filling it half way and digging in. The servants darted him a startled look; they’d barely had a chance to set the trays down and remove the covers from the platters. Anders nodded to them, indicating they were free to leave; once they’d gone, he took a plate and filled it with the roast beef and vegetables which were this evening’s fare. He set the plate before Zevran before getting a plate for himself and another for Vic.

Zevran gazed down at his plate then fumbled for his belt knife; he began to eat slowly, ignoring the fork and instead spearing slices of meat with the point of his knife and eating with blade and fingers, his eyes still blank and empty.

Anders darted him a worried look as he began to eat his own food.

“I think tomorrow I’ll check and see how things are going with getting them back to their world. I think it will be better for all of us the sooner they are gone,” Vic said as he glanced at Zevran then to Fenris before giving Anders a worried look. 

Anders nodded, his eyes still on Zevran, who seemed barely aware of his surroundings. “Vic... I remember when I was in Arden’s Kirkwall... I felt... hmm, hard to describe, but it was like I was on the edge of a panic attack, almost, the whole time we were there. And I remember you saying that you had a bad time in his world - but your presence also seemed to take a toll on Arden. Maybe... maybe their being here is bad for all of us, and not just because of whatever has happened to cause the strange ripple effect - the echoes down beneath the Rookery and in Zevran’s sleeping area?”

“No idea. I mean it would explain a lot but I don’t know if that’s it,” Vic said with a look at Fenris who was ignoring them in favor of moving food around on his plate and sipping water occasionally. 

“It might also explain why you seem to be the least affected of all of us,” shrugged Anders. “Although... you were always fine even with Arden in the same world, and he didn’t seem to be so badly affected. Maybe it depends on how you travel from one world to another?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It was just a thought.”

Zevran speared another slice of beef and ate mechanically, eyes gazing at nothing; he gave no sign of being aware of their discussion as it flowed on around him.

“It’s a good thought, and we know Fenris was always affected the worst,” Vic said with a glance at the elf who was still pretending to eat.

Anders darted an alarmed look at Fenris; the elf had always made a huge fuss about people talking about him behind his back - and even worse if they spoke as though he weren’t there. Yet the elf’s failure to react was somehow even more worrying than if the warrior had suddenly exploded at him in rage.

Fenris didn’t even look up as he set his fork down. “I’m going back to bed, unless either of you want anything from me,” he said softly.

Anders frowned slightly. “You can’t spend all your time asleep, Fenris,” he said quietly. “That’s not healthy.”

“There’s nothing else for me to do Anders, just let me rest,” the elf replied as he sat there, quiet and withdrawn.

“There _are_ things for you to do love, like learning to control your magic. Flying, sparring with the recruits or spending time with Dorian. You can’t stay in bed all day, Anders is right,” Vic added in.

“And you’ve done nothing to warrant being this exhausted,” went on Anders. “Maker - I spent the afternoon sparring with a group of the more advanced battlemages, and _I’m_ not tired enough for sleep yet!”

Zevran continued to eat slowly, steadily clearing his plater before licking his fingers clean of the last traces of gravy, then pulling out a cloth to clean and buff the blade of his belt knife, his eyes still on the table rather than the blade.

“I am emotionally tired Anders and I just want to sleep. There is nothing for me to stay awake for, just let me be,” Fenris pleaded quietly.

Anders bit his tongue rather than snap back with the retort which came readily to it - that surely spending time with his husbands should be reason enough. He reached instead for his wine and took a long swallow before he set the glass down again. “Fine,” he managed tersely. “You do that then, Fenris.” He turned his gaze to Zevran. “Zev?” he said, quieter. “What’s wrong?”

“I... cannot say,” said Zevran slowly. “Not... not now. Perhaps... perhaps some other time.”

Vic looked up to see Fenris go back to picking at his meal, face blank as he remained at the table instead of going back to bed. The brunet glanced to Anders as if to say _see?_ then back to watching his Tevinter husband sitting there miserably.

Anders rested his head in his hands as he leaned on the table. This wasn’t working. He had no idea what had happened between Invictus and Zevran, but clearly something _had_ happened. Fenris was withdrawing from them. This wasn’t a marriage any more; it was a slowly unfolding disaster. He lowered his left hand and stared at the rings. The ring from Zevran, gold set with three small rubies, resting on his ring finger. The ring from Fenris, gold, set with three emeralds the same hue as his eyes, resting on his middle finger. And the ring from Invictus - gold and set with a brilliant amber-hued topaz, resting upon his forefinger.

He glanced to Zevran again, noting that the elf wore his ring from Anders on his ring finger. It was silver, set with five amber cabochons and etched with a pattern reminiscent of the elf’s tattoo upon his left temple and cheek. He wondered when it was that Zevran had swapped around his rings; he was fairly certain that upon their marriage day, the elf had worn Fenris’ ring on his ring finger. When had he swapped them?

He’d asked for a year. Barely two days into that year, and here they were - the marriage disintegrating around them. He looked up at Invictus miserably.

“It’s...” he started, his voice low; it cracked upon the word, and he closed his eyes. “It’s not working, Vic,” he finally managed in a breathed whisper as he dropped his head to his hands again. “We’re falling apart.” He bit back the sob he could feel welling up in his throat, not trusting himself to speak for the moment. He swallowed hard, blinking back tears, glad of the damp hair that fell forward, hiding his face.

“I’m... I’ve decided,” he finally managed to go on. “I’m going to Denerim. To-tomorrow. I’ll... I’ll pack tomorrow. I’ll ask Krem for a horse - Wynne, she... I’ll ask her to come, but... but she’s... she’s not a child anymore, and I... I guess she’s old enough to decide for herself. But I’ll go - alone if need be. For - for a while. And... if you choose to come with me, we’ll... we’ll start again. And if you don’t....” He choked. “If - i-i-if y-you don’t... I release you from our promise.” 

Zevran stirred, turning to stare at Anders. “ _Mi cuore,_ ” he breathed softly, and lifted a hand to rest it upon Anders’ shoulder. “I go where you go.” His eyes were no longer empty; they were sorrowful, sad. He gently tugged a little, and Anders leaned into him with a choked sob.

Vic was staring at Anders in shock. “That’s it? You’re just giving up? You put us through all this, and now you’re just going to ride off and leave us?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Anders managed to get out after a moment. “This isn’t a marriage - _look_ at us, Vic! Fenris just wants to retreat away from us all, and you said you’d come but... I just... Vic, I need to start living a normal life, and this isn’t healthy! We’re all in this Void-be-damned limbo, and I can’t live like this anymore! Come with us if you want - follow us after if need be, I’ll... I’ll rent a house, one with enough rooms for all of us - space, there’ll be space, a new start - but - I _have_ to go!” 

He lifted his head, his face streaked with tears. “This is tearing me apart,” he choked. “I don’t want this to be the end. But right now... like this... where is our future?”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Vic replied, a stunned look on his face.

Fenris looked up at Anders words, a blank expression. “Two days...it’s only been two days, and you’d do this? Why did we go through all this? Anders, you dare?” Fenris didn’t sound angry, just hurt at the one among them who demanded the promise giving up so quickly.

Anders hunched in upon himself, sliding his hands into his hair and clutching it. “I’m sorry,” he managed through gritted teeth, choking back his tears. “I’m - I’m sorry! But - I can’t do this any more. I should have just done this then - I - I never meant to drag you through this, but... Fenris, it’s clearly not working!”

That made the elf’s anger flare up and smoke started to wreaths around his hands. “So of the four of us, you get this promise out of us, get upset when I ask for something to help me keep that promise, and because what? Why are you ...how _dare_ you, Anders? How _dare_ you toy with our hearts? I knew it...you never loved Vic or I the same, it’s clear where more of you heart lies as well! You never wanted this to work—-“ Fenris got cut off by a loud cry from Invictus.

“Stop, stop! This is my fault! I tried to advocate for Fenris to Zevran on something I’ve noticed; he told me why Fenris’ betrayal had hurt him so deeply. But it sent him on a bad trip into old, painful memories. It’s not my story to tell, but he went away into those memories, and then slept deeply on his own. So this is my fault - but you better not dare leave us after just two days of trying to get back to each other,” Vic added to Anders as he tried to keep them all calm. 

Anders had recoiled at Fenris’ vitriol and anger, and was staring transfixed at the smoke wreathing around Fenris’ clenched fists. “You’d hurt me, Fen?” he whispered. 

“No, I’m still learning to control this damned magic and fire comes when I’m angry. I’m not going to hit you, how dare you ask that?” the elf asked as he folded his arms and stepped away so he wouldn’t seem on the edge of violence.

“Well?! I explained why things are like this - stop this, Anders!” Vic asked again.

Anders folded his arms on the table and buried his face against them sobbing wretchedly. “I can’t do this anymore!” he cried, his voice muffled. “I just can’t!”

Zevran was staring at Vic, a look of hurt and pain in his eyes. “You... that was not for you to speak of!” he rasped. “How - how dare you? Yes, I am in pain - Rinna, Taliesen - Solona, now this, I - no, _mi cuore_ is right! This cannot continue!” He glared at Vic, and then turned his head to stare at Fenris. “You attack him with your words, you ask him how dare he - _you_ who are the cause of all this!”

Invictus glared at Zevran. “I did not tell your story to them, I shared that you were in pain. That is a confidence I did not break, I would not. I did a lot of thinking while you slept and I understand why you were hurt. But the why is your story to tell if you can.”

Fenris was staring at Zevran while they spoke, his eye catching the same thing Anders had noticed, how his ring no longer sat upon the elf’s ring finger but Anders’ did. “Enough...you tell me you love me less, and confide in Invictus as to how what I’ve done hurts because of something in your past? But not me so I can maybe understand and do better?” He reached for the ring from Zevran upon his own hand and held it as about to pull it off. “I begged for a chance, swore while looking you in the eye, and you’d leave after two days? That’s not even trying to keep the promise he got from us. I want you back fully in my heart, but leaving like this tells me you didn’t meant that promise and my oath was given for nothing. Zevran, my love for you didn’t change, or else I’d never have returned after taking my rings off that time. I want you to actually love me again, to feel happy if you call me _carissimi_ rather than it seeming like obligation. When I called you that the other night I meant it, I hope you know that,” Fenris finished as a couple of tears slid down his face. 

Zevran was still staring at him. “If your love for me has never changed, then why did you betray my trust?” he said softly. “Why have you continually hurt me, over and over? Why do you keep doing this? How can I believe anything you say, when you break your oath to me over and over, your promises to do better? Your words become meaningless; it is your actions that I feel, that wound me, and why should I remain only for you to hurt me again? Tell me that, Fenris!”

The white haired elf stared at him for a moment before sinking to his knees and staring up at the blond elf, hoping he was heard. “Because I’m stupid, I still ...I think I know how to act an adult, a good man but I don’t. I love you and I’ve hurt you, I know. But less than two days isn’t enough time to act, to show you through deed that I want this to work. I still wear your ring, I betrayed you all because I’m stupid and when Belann happened, I did not think you’d care; after all we had made no promises then. I’ve explained why I’d acted as I had in the other Thedas, I should have left the other you alone, but I didn’t. I’ve apologized over and over, I want to show you can trust me but I _can’t_ if you run after Anders. Please don’t go; whatever someone has done in your past, don’t make me pay for it. I’m sorry for whatever it is but I’m not them. I’m here now, asking for a chance to show you. _Please_ , Zevran.” Fenris bowed his head, and sat there hopeful but silent. 

Invictus had gone to Anders and was trying to get him to sit up so they could talk. The blond mage was slumped upon the table, his tears exhausted. As Invictus slipped an arm around his chest and gently lifted him, Anders slowly sat up, his head drooping.

“I can’t do it, Vic,” he murmured. “I... I’m done. Hit my limit.”

“It’s getting late and we’ve had a day of it. Why don’t you sleep. All of us because making life altering decisions when exhausted isn’t a good idea. If you wake up and feel the same, then...we make decisions. Please?” Vic asked quietly. 

Anders was still for several minutes as they watched him, Zevran turning and reaching out to touch him but hesitating. Finally, Anders nodded. “Alright,” he said quietly. “You’re right. I’m good for nothing like this.”

He was about to rise when there was a sudden knock at the door; they all looked up, startled. There was a second knock, and Anders stood, staring at the door before moving to open it.

A messenger stood there; she looked up at Anders and wordlessly thrust a folded bit of paper at him. Anders hesitantly took it.

“I’m to wait for an answer,” the messenger stated. “It is for someone called Fenris; I was told he is staying here?”

“Y-yes,” said Anders dazedly. “Uh... w-wait a moment?”

She nodded, and he turned back to the others. “Fenris, it’s... it’s for you.”

The elf rose and came forward to take it. He stared down at it, then opened it, recognising the bold, firm hand of his sister. He scanned it swiftly, then folded it again. “It... is from my sister,” he said slowly. “She has agreed to meet me with only Dorian as a witness. She suggests a meeting tomorrow morning after the tenth bell, in one of the teaching rooms in the College.” He turned back to the messenger. “Tell her I accept.”

The messenger nodded. “Will that be all, sirrah?”

“Yes,” said Anders quietly. “Thank you.”

She nodded to them both, turned on her heel and strode swiftly away.

Fenris stood there for a moment before turning to face them, sure they had questions.

“Love...are you alright? You look a little stunned,” Vic asked as he watched the elf.

“I...don’t know how I feel. I didn’t expect her to accept.” Fenris replied slowly before turning to the others, unsure of what they would say.

“Are you ready to confront her, love?” asked Anders gently. “This... I know that finding out she was here was a huge shock to you. What did she say?”

Fenris was surprised to hear _love_ come from Anders after the way he’d started to carry on and was until the messenger arrived. He looked away as he answered. “That she would give me this one chance to speak of things between us.” He wasn’t ready but he knew he’d never have another chance once she’d returned.

“I’ll be here if you need anything after you speak with her, love,” Vic offered as he approached carefully. “Do you want anything?” he asked.

“I... I’ll wait,” said Anders quietly. “I won’t decide anything until after you meet her. I... I want to be here for you - that is... if you want me to?” he added hesitantly.

Zevran was watching them from his seat at the table. “I, too will wait,” he said softly.

“Alright,” Fenris replied, looking between the two men in surprise. After all, they both had been ready to flee him and Invictus; he was suspicious of this change of heart. He looked back to Zevran, since the elf didn’t get a chance to reply to his plea.

“I hope it works out for you both, love,” Vic said as he pulled Fenris into his arms and sighed. “Love you,” he whispered against the elf’s neck.

“Love you too,” Fenris replied quietly, glad to be held for a while.

Anders watched them, a sad, wistful look in his eyes as he stood there. He wanted to go to Fenris; in spite of everything, he still loved the elf. But as he regarded them silently, he felt distanced - it seemed this was a moment for Vic and Fenris alone.

Zevran had slumped slightly in his chair, his expression almost a mirror of Anders’. He bowed his head. After Fenris’ plea, he felt conflicted and saddened. He wasn’t sure Fenris would even want comfort from him. He glanced up slightly at Anders, silently willing the mage to go to their elven husband. It seemed that he had almost destroyed what slender chance of happiness they might have had - but he knew Anders still loved Fenris. He held still and merely watched them.

Vic let go in a moment since he could look into the elf’s eyes. “I’ll get you some more food, you barely ate tonight and you should have a full dinner before you go see her. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

“I’m less hungry than before Vic, it’s fine,” Fenris said as he turned and saw their other two spouses watching them. He fell silent as he wondered what they wanted. Anders looked as if he wanted to come to him, and Zevran seemed sad rather than angry. He didn’t like either option, but he stood there as he heard Invictus step out for a few minutes.

“Can... can I hold you, love?” whispered Anders as he stared at the elf longingly.

Fenris nodded, choked up at the request, and hearing love from the other man.

Anders stepped forward, hesitated for a moment, then slipped his arms around Fenris and rested his head on the elf’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered. “It’s all just getting to me too much, and I’m exhausted. I... I should have died - when my heart failed that last time, I thought that was it and... I can’t really handle everything right now. I never wanted to hurt you, love, and I don’t want to leave you. I’m... I’m just hurting so much, and I don’t know what to do. I’m so sorry....”

Fenris kept quiet so he didn’t say the first thing that came to his lips, he just enjoyed being held while he could. He closed his eyes and just held Anders to him, sure it would be one of the last times he was allowed to.

“I love you,” breathed Anders, his eyes closed. “I love you so much and it hurts, Fen. I don’t want to go. Forgive me... I love you so much.”

Fenris turned his head slightly, his voice thick. “If you...if you need space from me to heal, I will hate it but I understand. I love you too.” 

Anders gasped softly; he was cried out, no more tears left, but Fenris’ words wrenched a dry sob from him. “No - no, I don’t want that,” he managed to gasp out. “I - I thought it was _you_ who needed space! Was I so wrong then? Maker - what have I done??”

“I wanted some space, not all the time or far away. It's done now, just drop it. Please,” Fenris replied tiredly as he felt Anders tighten his grip. His eyes had closed as he was held, and he just wanted things to be settled.

Zevran watched them, a hopeless look in his eyes. Slowly he turned away and buried his face in his arms as he rested them on the table, much as Anders had done. He was still and silent, aching in his chest, his throat tight. He lifted one hand to wrap it around his head, curling in on himself.

Anders’ eyes were still closed, wanting nothing at that moment more than to be held by Fenris. “Say the word and I’ll stay,” he breathed.

“You said you’re unhappy here. I want what is best for us to survive with this relationship intact and hopefully better than it is now. If you stay, let it be because you want to, not because I asked. After I meet with Varania, I can give a better answer,” Fenris replied, burying his face against Anders neck. “If our marriage survives this, then it was meant to. If not, then ...it wasn’t.”

“Tomorrow, then,” murmured Anders. “We’ll... we’ll talk about this tomorrow. After... after you talk with her. I’m just so tired, Fen.”

“As am I,” the elf said, before he opened his eyes to see Zevran curled in on himself. “You should check on him, he’s not well it seems,” Fenris said as he pulled back and nodded towards the Antivan. “I doubt he wants me near him,” he added sadly.

Anders let his arms fall, reluctantly, as he lifted his head to stare at Zevran. “He still loves you, you know,” he said softly. “I think maybe... maybe he wants you, Fenris. Try? Just... just talk to him. Give him a chance, love?”

Fenris looked at Anders and gave him a sad smile. “He loves me, but not as he used to. My ring is no longer on his ring finger as it was when we took our vows; you’re first in his heart and it hurts, Anders. I know it’s my fault, and that makes the cut all the deeper. I’ll try but words never meant anything to Zevran, action does.” He approached quietly and reached out and touched the elf’s knee cautiously.

Zevran stirred slightly, turning his head within the circle of his arms. “ _Carissimi_ ,” he whispered softly.

Fenris frowned at the pet name, sure it wasn’t heartfelt but he didn’t argue. Instead he left his hand on the other elf’s knee as spoke. “You’re not well, what do you need?”

“I... do not know,” murmured Zevran. “I think perhaps... sleep. Will you lie with me, my love?”

“If that is what you wish,” Fenris replied carefully, rising so he could help the other elf up if he wanted it. “I will help you up.”

Zevran held out a hand and allowed Fenris to help him up out of the chair. He swayed slightly as he stood there, dazed and exhausted from the emotions of the day and the aftermath of his revelations to Vic. He leaned in against Fenris as they moved towards the sleeping area.

“ _I still love you, carissimi,_ ” he murmured, lapsing into his native Antivan. “ _Why does this hurt so much?_ ”

Fenris kept quiet, again not wanting to let the first hurtful thing that came to mind out of his mouth. He herded the elf to bed and let him climb in first before sitting down and pulling everything off but his pants. He held his arm up so Zevran could curl up with him.

Zevran seemed not to care that he was still mostly dressed in pants and linen shirt; he’d kicked off his boots but made no attempt to take off his clothes. He pressed himself against Fenris, resting his head against Fenris’ shoulder, draping his arm around the other elf’s waist, his eyes closed.

Anders watched them, then slowly followed, stumbling slightly in his tiredness. He pulled his shirt off as he went, letting it fall to the floor uncaringly. He halted by the curtain that hung across the space dividing the sleeping area from the rest of the room, and glanced back to Vic.

“Coming, love?” he asked wearily.

“I’d hoped to get Fenris to actually eat but I guess it can keep until later if I chill it,” Vic said as he covered the plate he’d gotten sent up and joined the others in bed. He stripped off entirely, knowing he’d get too warm with three men pressed upon him. He slid under the covers and held them up for Anders. He was suspicious of being called love again so easily but said nothing. Anders pulled his pants off, leaving them on the floor as he slipped into bed next to Vic and curled up against him.

“I’m sorry, Vic,” he whispered. “This was all my fault. I’m... I’m done in, love.”

“You said talk about it tomorrow, that’s what I’d like if you don’t mind. We’re all done, I think; and tomorrow may be worse depending on how things go for Fenris. Let’s just sleep or lie here and be quiet,” Vic replied as he stared up at the canopy.

“Alright,” murmured Anders, his eyes already closed. Vic felt the blond mage fall steadily limp in his arms as his breathing eased out into slow, deep breaths, Anders deep under in sleep as he began to snore very softly. On the other side of the bed, Zevran had already succumbed to his weariness and fallen asleep in Fenris’ arms.

The room was silent, filled with only the sounds of soft breathing as Vic lay there and stared at the canopy. Sleep was a long time in claiming him.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of healing often comes with pain... but corners are turned.

Fenris was nervous as he waited for Dorian to finish getting ready. He was tapping his foot as he watched the magister apply kohl after getting his hair into that impossible angle he managed. He wanted to hurry him along but kept quiet. 

Dorian studied his reflection critically as he laid the kohl stick down, then rose. He had chosen one of his black tunics, one that was undeniably Tevinter in style, the collar and sleeve cuffs trimmed in cloth-of-gold, a subtle snake design woven in black thread over the rest of the fabric. He reached for his staff and slung it on his back then with a nod to Meneris in farewell, he gestured with a hand for Fenris to lead the way.

As they descended the stairs, Dorian said quietly, “ _Amicus_ , you look simply dreadful. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“No, but when else will I get the chance? She’s leaving as soon as the others go and if I lose my nerve now I won’t ever have a chance to ...find out some answers,” Fenris said as he fiddled with his rings out of nervousness. 

“I understand,” nodded Dorian as they reached the great hall and both strode swiftly through it. “But you shall not be facing her alone. Remember - I am there for _you_ , not for her. She wishes a witness, but I shall not allow her to harm you.”

“Thank you _amicus_ ,” Fenris said quietly, grateful for the other man’s friendship. He gave him a brief smile as they went, wishing things were better and that he felt comfortable enough to ask to spend time with Dorian.

“Perhaps afterwards we should go find somewhere quiet for a drink, _amicus_?” suggested Dorian as they headed down the stairs from the main entrance to the keep - almost as though the magister had read Fenris’ mind. “The tavern is generally pretty quiet these days, and they’ve finally started stocking some decent wines.”

“If I’m not an emotional mess, I’d like that,” Fenris nodded as he looked up to see the College not far from them. “Please don’t tell the others anything, even how I react to this. I beg of you,” he asked quietly.

“I shall be the very model of discretion Fenris - have no fear on that score,” Dorian said firmly. “Whatever is said between you and your sister will remain only between you two.”

They reached the College tower and Dorian led the way, Fenris a step behind. The guards opened the doors and said nothing as Fenris followed the magister up the stairs. Dorian led the way to the teaching room Varania had noted in her brief missive; as she had stated, it was empty.

Save for Varania herself. 

She was pacing slowly; her hair was longer now than it had been when last Fenris had laid eyes on her. She was dressed as befitted a high status altus; as Dorian entered, she gave him a respectful nod before turning to face Fenris.

“Dorian. I’m glad you were able to facilitate this meeting,” she began, before inclining her head towards Fenris. “Leto, I’m... it’s... been a long time...brother.”

He took in the sight of her, flinching slightly at being called Leto but he smiled at her. “Thank you for hearing me out...sister.” He brushed down his tunic as he approached the table and sat slowly, palms up to show he meant no harm.

She glanced to Dorian, who merely stood near Fenris, silent. After a moment, she took the other chair directly opposite Fenris.

“Well... I’m here. I’m curious why you wanted to talk to me. You... weren’t exactly interested in talking when last we... met. I should apologise for what I did to Anders - and I understand that my men were... far too aggressive towards... Zevran? Is that his name?”

“Yes, Zevran and Anders,” Fenris replied before he got to why he wanted to see her, hopefully get closure. “When I was in the other Thedas, there was a version of you there and Pin. When I woke up in the infirmary after we’d freed their Anders of his demon, she was ...nice. Happy to see me awake, and it sparked a hope that maybe just maybe I could talk to you when I returned here. At first it was a shock to learn you were here, but I realized I had a chance to try.” He looked up at her, eyes a little misty as he stared at his sibling.

“We’ve hurt each other a lot but...if Aeolus can forgive me for wanting to kill him at first meeting, and bear me as his brother; I’d hoped we could talk and if not find a way to learn each other, to at least find a peaceful way to part ways.” 

She looked down at her hands as they rested on the table top. “I must admit I was surprised when Aeolus came to me. I was aware he’d been watching me, but I never thought he would approach me like that - not after... after what I’d done. I did try to help him - it was why I took Anders. I... didn’t think he would have agreed to come so I... I _had_ to take him. I can’t heal; I’ve tried and tried, but my talents don’t lie in that direction.” She sighed, with a look of remorse. “I’d hoped that Anders could heal him, relieve his pain. I’d done everything I could for him, but - Leto, he was like an animal when I found him chained up in Danarius’ estate. He’d been starved - with both Hadriana and Danarius dead, there was no-one to care for him. I nursed him, but... he was barely responsive. I’d hoped Anders could change that - bring him out of himself, but he never had the chance to. I’m - I’m glad you were able to do more for him than I ever could. And when he came to me - his love for you was so clear to see. When he begged me to come... Leto, after what I’d done? How could I refuse him?”

“I don’t know, I figured of anyone, I was not someone you would care about, even be glad I was gone. As you said we have not been amicable to each other. I admit I was not happy when I learned you were here, but I was honest when I said how the other you treating me kindly sparked me wanting to tr,.” Fenris said quietly as he stared at his hands as he flexed them and let a small bit of ice come to him, though it took a lot more effort than he liked. “We also have something in common now.” 

Varania arched her eyebrows slightly in surprise. “So, the magic runs through both of us then. Curious. I’ve seen no sign of that in Aeolus, but I wonder... maybe _that_ was part of the reason why he took both you and Aeolus? Danarius must have sensed your latent magic. Maybe _that_ was why you two survived being branded with lyrium - and why Aeolus was able to survive having half of it ripped out again?” She looked down at her hands as she tapped a nail thoughtfully on the tabletop. “I have no way of checking him though. He’s gone; came to me a few days ago - his face ruined, blinded in one eye - said he was leaving, but thanking me for helping to bring you home. I think he said he was going to Denerim.”

“I...see. I have not yet seen him since my return. I may have a chance to find him there, if things go as expected with...us,” Fenris said quietly. He looked up to his sister with tears in his eyes. “All I ...all I wanted to know was why did you try to give me back to Danarius? I was so happy to learn of my sister, afraid of the very thing you did to me, why Varania?” 

She clasped her hands together. “Please try to understand, Leto - I didn’t want to do that. But things became so hard after Mother died. I - I took up the servant’s position in Magister Ahriman’s service because there was nothing left for me. I didn’t know then that I was a mage but... but that was where it came out. And Danarius was a close friend of Ahriman. I... I was scared, Leto, and Master Ahriman had read your letters. I had no choice - Danarius insisted we both go. And... and he made it clear that if I didn’t give you up... then he’d take me back as a slave. And I’d seen Aeolus, chained up in his dungeon and - and I was afraid, Leto!” She buried her head in her hands and began to weep softly. “I... I was weak, afraid, and - and he’d promised that if I did as he ordered, he would train me - but if I failed... Leto, I was terrified and I’m so, so sorry!”

“You had to know he’d never let you go Varania. Not after he got his dog back, you knew that. Ahriman would have given you up and been owed a favor.” Fenris rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to stay calm. “What happened after you left Kirkwall then? How did you get to be an Altus? We aren’t noble.”

“Oh, I know, Leto,” she sniffed as she raised her head and regarded him sadly. “I was a fool, but a hopeful one. I was still Liberati though - and after Danarius died, because I had been spoken of in Ahriman’s presence as his apprentice - well, there was no-one else to inherit his estate. Ahriman pulled strings, and I was named Altus two years after Danarius’ death. I’d already found Aeolus by then and was doing my best for him; I sold Danarius’ estate in Minrathous and lived for a while in Vyrantium whilst I tried to find healers for him. I’d moved back to Minrathous in desperation to find someone for him when I found you by chance. I saw Anders, and... and I was desperate.” She sighed dejectedly. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Leto, but... I did owe you an explanation. I have regretted what happened in Kirkwall for years.”

“I don’t know that I can forgive you now, but perhaps later now that I at least know why,” Fenris said as he finally wept, head in hands as he tried to gather his thoughts. He wiped at his face as he looked at her. “What ...what do you want of me, if anything? “ he asked roughly. He felt Dorian’s hand come down onto his shoulder and squeeze briefly, a silent affirmation of his friend’s presence, before the magister stepped back again.

“Nothing, Leto,” said Varania softly. “Only your trust, that I will find a way to send your mirror self and his companions home again. I think we are on the verge of a breakthrough. Did you know that Anders’ daughter is a _somniari_? I think she holds the key; she was the one who reached through to you, and I think if we return to Adamant she may be able to open a portal back with my help.”

“I hope you can send them back sooner than later, I know their Dorian is more than eager to get back,” Fenris said as he reached for her hands. “May...may we keep in contact or do you wish to part ways now that we have spoken?” he asked quietly.

She hesitated, then laid her hands in his. “I would like to keep in touch,” she said quietly. “I... I’d like to get to know you better, Leto. We’ve been strangers to each other for so long and... and I’ve often thought of you, wondering how you were and what was happening to you. I heard of your appointment as ambassador and... I was proud of you.” She glanced down for a moment. “I’ve... also been working with the Lucerni,” she added after a moment.

Dorian stirred at that and opened his mouth to speak, then bowed his head slightly and kept his silence.

“Pin has spoken so much of you,” Varania went on. “She’s a real firebolt, that one - reminds me of you when you were young.” She smiled in remembrance. “I... know you have no love for our homeland, Leto, but... perhaps one day... I have a smaller estate now, on the outskirts of Minrathous. It’s only modest, but it’s quiet and peaceful, and you would always be welcome there. Aeolus knows how to find it. I have staff, but they’re all free - I don’t keep slaves. And...” She glanced up at him. “I’ve never used blood magic, Leto. I... I wanted you to know that. I’ve studied it, I know its ways - but never resorted to it.”

“Alright...that’s good to know I suppose,” Fenris said as he rubbed a thumb over her hand slowly. “She’s...like me, but right now she is angry with me and so is Callus. It doesn’t matter, they’re grown up in so many ways after being freed. I just wish I was better to them,” he said almost to himself before looking into her eyes. “Do you think we can ever get to a good place...sister?” he asked in a small voice.

“I want to, Leto,” she said softly yet earnestly. “I want that more than anything... brother. I was so afraid to come - but - but I _had_ to.”

Dorian frowned for a minute, then reached into his tunic and produced a small box. He took out two rings, both heavy gold, set with emerald cabochons. He laid them on the table.

“Fenris is familiar with these,” he said quietly. “They are enchanted. Wear one each, and at will you will be able to speak with each other, no matter how far apart you are. Just swipe a finger over the stone to open the communication with the other ring.” He kept his eyes on the rings as he stepped back.

Varania stared down at the rings, then up at Fenris. “Leto?” she said quietly. “Brother? I... I would like that. To be able to speak to you whenever we wish, if... if you want that too?”

“Yes… please,” Fenris said as he picked up one of the rings and handed it to her. “Don’t let me regret this, sister. I ...I want to know you as well.”

She accepted it and slipped the ring onto the ring finger of her right hand. “I will try my best not to disappoint you, Leto,” she promised.

“Thank you,” Fenris replied as he slipped the other ring on. He gave her a worried smile before timidly asking for a hug before leaving.

“I was afraid to ask _you_ for one,” she whispered back shyly. She rose to her feet and held out her hands to him.

He realized how much he towered over his sibling once he stood up so he knelt before pulling her gently into his arms and holding the smaller elf. “ _Forgive me sister...one day. I’ll work on forgiving you as well, now that I know why,_ ” he whispered in Tevene.

She held him as close as she could, her face buried against his chest, and as she trembled in his arms he realised she was weeping again. “ _I’m so sorry, brother,_ ” she sobbed softly. “ _I should have been stronger for you!_ ”

Dorian glanced away, lifting a finger to press it cautiously below his eye just above the scar on his cheek, blinking for a moment. His eyes glimmered suspiciously bright and he bowed his head. 

“ _So should I, I wish I’d never entered that tournament, or that you and mother suffered as you did. We each have things to be forgiven for, it will just take time,_ ” Fenris replied softly before he pulled back and wiped her tears away. “No more crying, for either of us, ok?”

She tried to smile up at him bravely. “I’ll do my best, Leto.” She straightened her skirts and glanced to Dorian. “And thank you, Dorian, for agreeing to come. I appreciate it more than I can say.” She gave him a deeper bow - as altus to magister.

Dorian coughed, a little self-conscious, and then gave her a courteous bow - one that he would have used with an equal. “My lady. It was my honour - to assist both of you.”

“May I walk you to the lab sister, or do you need time to think on what we’ve discussed?” Fenris asked as he watched her as if she’d disappear on him if he blinked.

She smiled that small, shy smile again. “You’re welcome to come, Leto,” she replied. “I’ll have word passed to the guards that you’re to be allowed up to see me at will as well, for as long as I’m here.”

“That should be easy to arrange,” nodded Dorian. “Fenris, would you like me to arrange that for you now, or would you like me to accompany you?”

“Come with so we can get that drink you promised me _amicus_?” he asked while he fell in next to Varania.

Dorian smiled as he followed them. “It would be my pleasure,” he agreed.

As they came to the doors leading up to the higher levels, Dorian turned to the guards and gestured to Fenris. “This mage is a guest. He is to be allowed access to all levels, including the research laboratories. Pass the word, please.”

“Yes, ser,” one of the guards nodded. “The name, ser?”

“Fenris,” answered Dorian.

“Very good, ser,” the guard acknowledged. “I’ll pass the word, ser.” He nodded to Fenris. “Welcome to Skyhold College, ser.”

“Thank you,” Fenris said before turning to his sibling. “Is this where we part ways? I don’t know where the labs are, actually.” 

“They’re on the top floor,” said Dorian. “Why don’t we go on up so you can see where Varania works? I’d like to check on Parcival, in any case. He still hasn’t returned to his usual duties as First Enchanter and I’m rather worried about him.”

“He’s been quite ill,” said Varania as she led the way upstairs to the library level. “I saw him yesterday, and he looked very unwell. Definite signs of lyrium poisoning, to my eyes.” She led the way through the library, past a reading desk where Fenris spotted a very familiar head of long red curls. 

As they drew level, Pin straightened from the tome she was studying, and her eyes widened. “Father? Aunt Varania??”

Fenris gave her a cool look as he responded. “Yes, daughter?”

She gave him an almost pleading look as she stared up at him. “Father, please - I’m - I’m sorry,” she managed. “I - I shouldn’t have spoke to you like that. I’m sorry.”

“I am not having this conversation in the open air of the library, daughter. I will seek you out later to deal with this,” he replied, still giving her a rather stony look. It had been bad enough she laid into him, but he was absolutely not going to discuss that in the open.

She bowed her head dejectedly. “Yes, Father,” she murmured.

As they turned to go, Fenris caught sight of a pained, haunted look on Dorian’s face before the magister turned away. 

“We should move on,” Dorian said tersely, a strained note to his voice.

Fenris glanced at his friend before turning back to kneel next to Pin. “I’m sorry, we can talk later alright? I accept your apology, Pin,” he whispered to her.

“Thank you, Father,” she murmured quietly as she stared down at him, tears glimmering in her eyes. “I’m... I’m sorry I disappointed you, Father. And in front of Master Anders, and Uncle Zevran and Uncle Vic too. I shouldn’t have done that. May... may I come speak with you later?”

“Of course, and I’m sorry to be such a failure as well. I look forward to seeing you later Pin,” Fenris said as he rose and kissed her on the forehead before joining them again, his gaze averted as they walked.

Dorian was waiting by the door to the stairs, leading to the upper level; he was staring at the ground, a pensive look upon his face though he managed to muster a smile as Varania and Fenris joined him. 

“So, shall we?” he smiled as he pulled open the door. “Ladies first....”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Varania gave him a gentle smile.

Fenris followed last and whistled as he saw the lab, impressed despite himself. “This is...not what I expected.” 

Dorian smiled as he turned back to Fenris. “I helped design it. It is based on the research labs I studied in, during my time in various Circles in Tevinter. I took the best of what I know, and assisted Anders and Parcival in drawing up the requirements.”

“This is where Dorian brewed a potion that took him over twenty-eight hours,” remarked Varania. “Quite the daunting and inspiring example to some of the older students, I dare say. I contented myself with working in one of the other smaller labs during that mammoth endeavour; I can recognise a true scholar when I see one.”

“My lady flatters me too much,” smiled Dorian, though Fenris could see by the light in Dorian’s eyes that the recognition of a fellow scholar and researcher meant a great deal to Dorian. “The results were worth the hours spent over failed potions and frustrations however.”

“What matters is you succeeded and the other Anders is free of the demon. Now, if we can just get them back sooner than later, I’ll be happier for certain,” Fenris remarked before turning to his sibling. 

“I’ll get out of your way now, but I would like to see you before you leave...sister,” Fenris said slowly, the word still strange in his mouth.

“I promise you, Leto, the very moment our research succeeds, I will come tell you myself,” nodded Varania. “And I will not leave until we have had another chance to get to know each other.”

Parcival wandered into the lab and halted as he glanced up and saw all three of them there. “Oh! I’m sorry, forgive me; I... didn’t think anyone else would be up here at this hour,” he said, startled. As Fenris turned to look at him, he was instantly struck by how unwell the man looked. he’d last seen Parcival face down and unconscious upon the floor of Leto’s room - but Parcival didn’t look much more than about three steps away from repeating that fainting fit. He was almost ghostly pale, dark shadows under his eyes, and his hands shook and trembled as he stared at them. He could see clearly what the others had meant about the First Enchanter being unwell. Fenris could recognise in him the signs of lyrium overuse - he’d seen it in Anders, and he remembered Zevran’s shaking fits as he went through lyrium withdrawal.

“Parcival, man, you shouldn't even be out of bed!” exclaimed Dorian as he hastened to Parcival’s side. “Does Becky know you’re here?”

“She had to go take care of matters regarding some new apprentices,” said Parcival with a wave of his hand. “I have duties to attend -”

“Which your assistant senior enchanters are more than capable of taking care of,” interjected Dorian over the man’s quiet protest. 

“Parcival, you’re exhausted. We are taking you back to your room and you are going to sleep,” Fenris added with a long look at the other man. “You’ve had too much lyrium when you were healing Anders.”

“Had to,” murmured the sick man. “Had no choice. Couldn’t stop.” He glanced up at Fenris. “Anders... he’s well? It fully worked?”

“Yes, he is healed,” Fenris replied before he scooped Parcival up and nodded to Dorian. “Lead the way or open a portal.”

“It’s this way,” said Varania. “Parcival and his wife have their living quarters just down here.” She went on ahead and led the way as Dorian hastened to hold doors open. As they entered, he looked around, Varania doing likewise until Dorian called that he’d found the bedroom and Fenris was able to carry the half-conscious First Enchanter in, Parcival still dazedly murmuring that he was fine and just needed a little rest.

His faint protestations died as Fenris laid Parcival down in the large bed. It was of Rivaini design, the fabrics and furnishings all in that rich, exotic style that he remembered Isabela’s cabin on board her ship had sported. The dark-haired mage looked up at Fenris as he lay there, and managed to summon a grateful, if weary smile.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I... hadn’t realised how much it would exhaust me, merely walking that far. I... overestimated my recovery, I fear.”

“Parcival drank eight vials of lyrium in total whilst healing Anders,” murmured Dorian quietly. “I knew it was dangerous, but what could I do? If he’d faltered, Anders might have died. I... his state is my fault, but what could I do?”

“Someone should check on you later, I’ll ask that a healer come by with a meal for you,” Fenris said as he pulled the covers up.

Parcival nodded weakly, his eyes already closing; he had fallen back into sleep before they had reached the bedroom door.

They paused outside the doors to the First Enchanter’s quarters.

“He is a seriously ill man,” said Varania quietly. “I have seen magisters in such a state. If one takes too much lyrium over an extended period of time, then the body begins to... change. Eight vials in one session... that is far too dangerous.”

“A man’s life was at stake,” said Dorian defensively, though his grey eyes were troubled. “I can only hope that Parcival suffers no lasting harm, I... I hadn’t realised just how bad he was.” He glanced away, his face betraying the guilt he felt at having reduced Parcival to this state.

“We’ll make sure someone checks on him sister, on our way out in fact,” Fenris said quietly. “Thank you again for seeing me Varania. I’ll talk to you soon,” he smiled before heading down stairs.

Dorian followed behind him, the magister pensive and withdrawn as they made their way down through the tower. Pin looked up again as they passed through the library, giving her father a small smile and then casting a worried look at Dorian as they passed. But Dorian remained silent, his eyes distant and distracted as he followed Fenris.

Fenris glanced at his friend occasionally as they went, worried until they were alone for a moment. He pulled Dorian aside and made his look him in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

Dorian returned his look reluctantly. “Fenris... you’ve seen for yourself the result of what happens when someone takes too much lyrium - you must have seen Anders in a similar state, and then there was Zevran - but I don’t think you fully realise the risks for we mages. A dose like that... Fenris, I came very close to poisoning Parcival fatally with that much lyrium. What if he doesn’t recover from this?” He looked away, and closed his eyes. “If I have harmed him irreversibly - Fenris, Parcival is more than just another healer or mage. After all we went through, in the years we stood against Corypheus - he’s a friend. And if I have harmed him - Dumat, I don’t think I could forgive myself for that.”

“Why don’t you come check on him later then? I don’t think its beyond his ability to heal or else he might have perished by now right? Will that help if you check on him later?” Fenris asked quietly.

Dorian was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I had no choice, but... to think I might have killed one friend to save another... And yet, at that point, I had to continue... so that he could carry on. So Anders could be whole again.” He lifted his head with a sigh.

“Forgive me, _amicus_ ,” he said. “Your meeting with your sister should not be overshadowed by my dwelling on my own failures. You talked, and I think you’ve begun that first step towards healing together, and that should be a cause for celebration.”

“It’s alright, I am glad you still trust me enough to share this with me,” Fenris said quietly before looping his arm through Dorian’s and heading for the magister’s rooms. “You owe me a drink and I don’t think either of us is fit for a public session of getting drunk.”

“I most heartily concur, _amicus_ ,” nodded Dorian. “Shall we? I have three bottles of Aggregio Pavali that I’ve been keeping by for an occasion, and I can think of no-one else I’d sooner share them with....”

**

Zevran sat in the bed, his back to the headboard, hunched over with his arms around his knees, his gaze on nothing.

“Zevran... please, love,” pleaded Anders. “I’m sure Fenris will be back soon!” He glanced to Vic.

“Why are you like this over him meeting with her? He’s not alone, Dorian is with him,” Vic said.

“Zev... we knew Fenris would be gone likely before we woke. You slept so deeply because you needed it - please, love, don’t take it to heart that he was gone when you woke?” said Anders gently.

“We knew he had this meeting, stop this Zevran,” Vic said a bit tersely, especially since he knew the other elf was likely having a bad time.

Zevran lowered his head to his knees for a moment as he drew a ragged breath before looking up and nodding. “I... I know. I....” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I am being a fool, no?” he murmured. “This fuss because I did not wake in my _carissimi’s_ arms, and yet... I dreamed....” He opened his eyes and gazed at Vic in anguish. “I dreamed that he fell, and I could not catch him. That he died, and... his blood was on my hands. To wake and find him gone....”

“He’s not dead, and not in pain as far as we know. I just hope being gone this long means they had a good talk. We don’t know what he’ll be like when he returns. This moping does not suit you.” 

“Vic,” said Anders in a quiet aside. “Softly. He never had a chance to answer Fenris last night, and then a dream like this?”

Zevran had put one hand to his head, drawing his knees up again. “Forgive me, I... am not myself yet, I think,” he said tersely. 

“Zev... I’m sure Fen will return soon. He wouldn’t want to find you in this state, would he?” Anders tried.

“Perhaps you should eat something?” Invictus suggested.

“I’ll go call for a tray; the noon bell must have rung well over an hour ago,” said Anders as he moved away from the bed and hurried to the door to call for a messenger.

Zevran sighed and lowered his hand. “Perhaps you are right,” he nodded. “What is wrong with me? It feels like I am walking through a dream. I am no longer plagued by those nightmares of doing horrific things that I could not bear to even think about - but still, my dreams are uneasy, and I awaken exhausted and full of despair. Invictus... what has become of me?”

“I ...think revisiting those incidents traumatized you again. Eat and rest Zevran, maybe that will help you,” Vic said quietly.

Zevran nodded his head, then slowly climbed from the bed. His clothes were wrinkled from sleeping in them, but he made no attempt to change - he instead made for the main room, stumbling over to the window seat and sitting there, one leg stretched out along the seat as he gazed dully out of the window.

Anders returned. “Apparently there’s little left from the midday meal, but the messenger said he could likely sort out a platter of cold meats and so forth. I told him that’s fine - after all, we have no idea how long it will be until Fenris is back. I only hope that his being gone this long is a good sign....”

“I hope so, I really do,” Vic said as he watched Zevran carefully. “I worry for this fear over Fenris from him. It seems odd.” 

“I think not having the chance to answer Fenris last night must have preyed on his mind as he slept,” replied Anders quietly. “And yes - I’m worried too. His behaviour yesterday, and since waking - Vic, this is completely unlike Zevran. He’s _never_ like this!”

“Considering how he reacted to me half explaining, I will let him tell his tale, if he ever does,” Vic said as he rose to get the door, and set out the tray for them. “Will you get him over here? I think he needs to make a sandwich on his own and eat with us.” 

Anders moved to Zevran’s side and laid a hand on the Antivan’s shoulder. “Come on, love... you need to eat,” he said gently.

Zevran turned his head to look at Anders’ hand, then up at the mage. He gave him a sad smile and patted Anders’ hand. “I will come,” he nodded. He rose and followed Anders to the table. Taking a plate, he filled it with a few slices of cold beef, a piece of the sharp cheddar that had been sent up, and tore a hunk of bread from the loaf. He sat and began to eat, not looking up.

They all seemed to be off in their own worlds as each man ate quietly, slowly. Invictus kept glancing at the water clock over the mantle, then to Anders then to Zevran before he poured more wine and waited. The longer they sat together in strained silence, the more antsy he became until he nearly jumped out of his chair when Fenris did return. 

Zevran glanced up as the door opened, then rose to his feet, staring at the other elf. Anders sprang up swiftly before Zevran could speak. 

“There you are, love; we were starting to worry,” he exclaimed. “I hope that means all went well?”

Zevran stared down at Fenris’ right hand. “You... have a new ring?” he said hesitantly.

“Yes, it went well,” Fenris replied to Anders before glancing at Zevran. “Yes, it's similar to the one I use to speak to Aeolus. There is no other meaning behind it,” he said before looking around at them. 

Zevran grasped the meaning at once. “Then Dorian thought things may go well between you,” he nodded. “If you are wearing this one... she has the other?” He gave Fenris a faint smile, barely a ghost of his usual cheery grin. “I am happy for you.”

“Thank you, Zevran,” Fenris said quietly, thumbing the ring self consciously as he stared at the elf, unsure he believed him.

Anders glanced at Zevran worriedly, then took a step closer to Fenris. “Zevran’s not himself,” he said softly. “He had a nightmare about your fall, and I think something about his experience in the Rookery has left him badly shaken.”

“I see,” Fenris replied, still wary of his Antivan husband. “Should he sleep it off?”

“I don’t think sleep will help him now love,” Vic remarked, equally quietly.

“Zevran only just woke up a little over an hour ago,” added Anders.

The elf in question had sat down again at the table, beside his empty plate, staring down at it dully. He glanced up at them as if belatedly aware they were talking about them.

“You were not there when I awoke,” he shrugged. “It was a bad dream, nothing more. I am fine now, I think.” He glanced to Invictus. “See, you were right, my love; I simply needed to eat. All is well now, no?”

“No,” muttered Anders _sotto voce_ to Fenris. “Everything is _not_ well....”

“Talk to me Zevran, you haven’t eaten and you look weary. What’s wrong, a dream usually doesn’t rattle you like this and you knew I was meeting with her. Please talk to me?” Fenris asked. 

Zevran stared down at his hands. “I dreamed that you fell, but from the Rookery balcony. I tried to halt your fall but I could not reach your hand. I raced down the stairs but you were... dead. I tried to... to revive you... but you were gone. And your blood was on my hands, and I could not stop thinking that I had done this. And then I woke and you were gone.” He stared at his hands, at the palms - as if he could still see the blood. “It was Rinna all over again,” he whispered.

“I’m here, I feel fine. If I fall out the window I’m probably going to live cause I’m a freak anyway,” Fenris quipped as he tried to get Zevran to smile or something. 

“I was bought for three sovereigns by the Crows when I was seven years old,” said Zevran quietly, still staring at his hands. “I was one of eighteen children bought that year; sold into slavery. By the time I turned eight, only I and one other had survived. Sixteen children, dead before their eighth summer... to survive such brutality would put a mark on any man. Imagine, then, what effect it would have on a child? Taliesen and I.. we were closer than any brothers could be. We survived. We mastered all the Crows threw at us. And Rinna... she was the sun. She was a breath of fresh air; she was beautiful. And I loved her. I thought Taliesen did too. We three... we were inseparable.”

He laughed softly. “All youths think themselves immortal, no? And so did we. We had our whole lives ahead of us. And then Taliesen came to me one night. He had proof - proof brought by the senior Crows, our masters. Rinna had betrayed us. She had to die, and that was our orders. And damn me... but I believed them. The one shining light in my life... and she died still protesting her love to me, my blade in her heart.”

“Damn me,” he whispered, as they looked on in sympathetic horror. 

“I spat on her corpse,” he went on. “I, who had loved her more than life. And then... Taliesen told me it had all been lies. It was a test of my loyalty. And I had passed.”

He shook his head sadly. “I wanted to die. I tried to. I took so many assignments that should have resulted in my death but.. I was too good. Too talented. I truly was the creature they had made of me: a weapon. I was Death incarnate. So I took one last mission. There were two Wardens in Ferelden; there was a contract for their deaths. I knew the reputation of the wardens; even I could not hope to survive such a foolhardy mission. I took it. And... Solona spared me. So... I followed her. Where else could I go? The Crows would not look kindly upon me for my failure.”

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair back behind his ear. “They sent Crows after me. And.. it was Taliesen. He offered me a choice: return with him to Antiva; submit to my rightful place as a slave under the yoke of the Crows once more... or die. He who was dearer than a brother to me. He betrayed me... and I killed him. And in time, Solona too betrayed me.”

He closed his eyes. “And so now you all know why I would die for any of you... but my heart cannot take yet another betrayal. I am heartsick, weary, and to dream of killing another of my loves? I woke, saw you gone, and... I wanted to die.”

He buried his face in his hands. “Maker damn me, I wanted to die.”

“Zevran...why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Fenris asked, horrified as he approached the smaller elf and pulled him into his arms and tried to reassure him that he was loved and it was alright.

“Now, you see? Now, you understand?” whispered Zevran. “Every time you betrayed me, it was like another piece of my soul ripped away; it is as if I have been slowly dying, _carissimi_ ,” Zevran managed. “Should you betray me again... I would sooner you cut my throat, kill me and have done with it, for it would be a kinder death. You already have my heart, Fenris; you have had it since that first night I laid my eyes upon you. I tried - I tried so hard to deny it to myself but... I could not. Can you blame me if I have turned to Anders, who has never hurt me? With him, I am... safe. I can allow myself to live. But.. my heart aches, Fenris. And I cannot take this anymore.”.

Fenris held him close and wept, apologizing over and over as he held the Antivan to him. “If I fail and betray you again, it will kill me. After this, knowing this if I betray you again, then it will end me for causing you this pain,” he said shakily.

“Fenris...no, don’t do that, promise---” Vic started but fell silent at the look he was given. “I’ll just let you two talk, come on Anders.”

Anders was staring at Zevran, tears rolling down his face. “Maker... sweet Andraste... Zevran, you’ve mentioned Rinna before but - but I never knew! Did... did Solona know?”

Zevran looked at him and nodded. “Yes,” he murmured. “I told all to her, upon our wedding night. How could I not? But she betrayed me. And so... I was too afraid to tell you all. But I cannot carry this any longer.” He smiled sadly. “ _Mi cuore_ , do not weep. I am in great pain, but... I shall live. I survive, no? I do not know how to do anything else. I kill, I am an assassin, trained for only one thing, and that is all I am. I kill... and I survive.”

“No... no, Zevran, you are so much more than that,” breathed Anders, his fists clenched. “Fenris - tell him! Tell him he is greater than this!”

“Leave us, there are things he and I need to discuss,” Fenris said as he continued to hold Zevran close as if the elf would perish if he let go. “You too Invictus.”

Anders looked around the room, then at Invictus before looking back at Zevran who was held firmly in Fenris’ arms, head bowed and eyes closed.

“I... yes, of course,” murmured Anders. He moved to the sleeping area to retrieve his boots, pulling them on swiftly and lacing them before rising to fetch his staff. “Vic... come to the training rings with me?”

Vic was staring at Zevran and Fenris, but at Anders’ words he nodded and reached for his own staff. “Sure,” he replied. “I could use the work-out.”

The two mages left, and Fenris and Zevran were alone.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto and his Anders spend time together.

Leto was antsy; he knew he didn’t have to stay in the rooms they had been given but he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wasn’t going to call on Fenris or his men again after what had been done to him. All he wanted to do was find a new life, away from everyone, Dorian, Zevran and his own Anders. He spent most of his time staring out the window of their sleeping room, withdrawn and pensive. He looked up when he heard one of the others in the room but didn’t speak.

Anders wandered in then paused in the doorway. “Leto?” he called softly.

“Yes, Anders?” the elf replied quietly.

Anders took his response as an invitation to step into the room, approaching Leto cautiously with a gentle smile. “I... wanted to see how you were doing,” he said quietly as he came to sit on the end of the bed. “What you were exposed to was pretty brutal. And, um... I honestly didn’t know that something like that was even possible.”

“I want to go find my own way again. None of you need me, and I doubt any of you want me around after what I’ve done. Dorian snaps at me more than anything, and Zevran ...his affection for me was false, built on fear and that’s not what I want. I hate it here, I want to go, I don’t care where but not here,” Leto replied without turning around.

“None of us? I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Leto,” shrugged Anders. “I... you and I have a lot of history, Leto - of which I’m missing a lot over the past ten years. That’s... that’s a lot of time to be missing. And it’s not just the stuff Vengeance kept hidden from me... there’s... gaps. I barely even know what’s been going on in the world.” He twisted his fingers together in his lap as he stared down at them with a small frown. “Leto, what I’m trying to say is....” He looked up with a lost, vulnerable expression. 

“Leto... _I_ need you,” he finally finished in a small voice.

“Do you? Aren’t you afraid of me or what I might lash out and do?” the elf asked before he turned to look at the other mage. “I dare say I was the worse monster between us, knowing exactly what I put them through physically...let alone emotionally.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Leto. I have no memories of you ever harming me. I have... flashes... seeing some of the things you were capable of doing, but... in those brief moments when Vengeance let me have control - when I was usually frightened - frequently terrified, actually, and traumatised by whatever Vengeance had made me do....” He looked down at his hands again, running his flesh-and-blood thumb along the smooth wooden one of his other hand. “You were always kind and gentle to me, Leto,” he finished quietly.

“Talk to them then, find out the kind of man I am before you say you need me,” Leto replied before turning back to stare listlessly out the window.

“They didn’t know me in Kirkwall,” said Anders, not looking up. “They can’t tell me how I ended up in Haven, what I was doing in the Temple of Ashes to begin with. All I remember is waking up in terror, my hand blazing in agony, with Cassandra ready to execute me on the spot and I honestly couldn’t tell her I _wasn’t_ responsible for blowing up the Conclave - because for all I knew, I _might_ have been. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, she’d have hung me. You looked after me until Vengeance finally woke up again and took me over. You were my rock... the one who helped keep me sane. No matter how horrific it was, being imprisoned in my own mind... you’d promised. You promised not to let me kill any more innocents. And I knew that if Vengeance went too far... then it would be you who released me in the end.”

He looked up, a bleak expression in his eyes. “I thought I would die a prisoner in my own mind, Leto. And now... you’re the one constant I have. You have been the one person who has been there for me whenever Vengeance let me free. I don’t believe you would hurt me. I trust you. And I need you.”

“You’re the only one who does,” Leto replied bleakly, his head dropping as he fought back tears. 

“Leto?” Anders blinked, and looked worried. “Maker. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you! But it’s true - I trust you with my life! I need you, and... and I’m worried for you.”

Leto wasn’t able to reply, he was too deep in his own feelings of fear and failure. His shoulders shook as he silently wept, ashamed to let that much show.

“Leto... you make it sound as if you’re not going back - or as if you’re going to take off and leave the moment we do arrive in our own Thedas,” said Anders slowly. “If you do that... I think I’ll end up dead rather swiftly and possibly painfully. Because if it’s Adamant, then... if you abandon me there, it’s an awful long walk out and... and I’m not too keen on the idea of starving to death. And if we go back to Skyhold... they last saw me with my hands tied behind my back, terrified, and it was fairly clear that ‘Leto’, Zevran and Dorian were heading out on a mission and Zevran was going to be slitting my throat and dumping my body in the first ditch they came to. If I walk back into Skyhold, I’m a dead man - and I’ll likely end up wishing Zevran _had_ killed me once they get their hands on me. I - I need you, Leto. I’m scared, and I think you’re the only person who could keep me alive, because there’s a lot of people who would like to see me dead.”

“Like they don’t want me dead too?” Leto said quietly before turning to face Anders. “Sorry, I’m not doing well still. I’ll protect you best I can, after all I’m supposed to be the Inquisitor now right?” He gave a pathetic attempt at a smile, and glanced down.

“You’ll probably be far less crap at it than I was,” shrugged Anders. “After all, at least you’re not possessed by a corrupted spirit that’s fond of massacring people and - and committing blood sacrifices, and...and....” He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the floor. He’d turned rather pale, his breath quickening slightly. “Sorry. Sorry. It... I keep getting flashes, and... Maker.” he curled in on himself slightly, and clutched at his head, breath coming faster. “No,” he breathed. “I - I don’t want to see this again, I....”

Leto turned and went to Anders, pulling him into a loose hug. “Breathe, it’s ok. It’s ok,” he said as he held the blond through dealing with the influx of memories.

Anders clutched at him, eyes wide and unfocused. “No... no, no!” he gasped, breath coming in frightened pants now. “Don’t - please, no, stop - stop, stop, _stop!_ ” he begged frantically. “Someone please stop me! I can’t scream. I can’t scream!”

“Anders! Look at me, breathe, in and out, like before, remember? When we’d talk before Vengeance got bad… just look at me,” Leto said as he held the other mage. Anders’ head jerked up and he stared at the elf; a terrified whimper escaped his lips as he clutched at Leto; slowly his eyes seemed to finally focus, and he managed to slow his breathing from the ragged hyperventilating pants of before as awareness of where he was gradually sank back in.

“L-L-Leto?” he finally managed to gasp out. “Oh thank the Maker. Not there. It’s... it....” He slowly crumpled in Leto’s arms and buried his face against the elf’s tunic as he gave in to thankful sobs. “Th-thank you,” he finally managed to say. “That... that was a bad one.”

Eventually his breathing returned to something approximating normal and he straightened, drawing a deeper breath that only hitched slightly. “Sorry about that,” he said quietly. “That one blindsided me a little.” 

“It’s alright, I’m just glad it was a short moment,” Leto said as he held Anders close for his own comfort as much as the other man’s. “Sorry for my own little moment.”

Anders tried to smile, but it was somewhat lopsided and tremulous. “I’m doing better than when I first woke up after being freed from Vengeance. Apparently I just screamed my head off constantly every moment I was awake so Pin and Varania just dosed me to the eyeballs on poppy juice. I was high as a kite, hallucinating wildly and just not really capable of screaming. Ended up sleeping mostly until the worst of the shock wore off. And then there were those three templars who decided I was doing something nefarious to your mirror self, Fenris, so thought they’d smack me around a bit and lay a Smite on me. Fenris at least woke up before they could chop my head off. All in all though, I’ve had easier months. I think. It would be nice if I could remember for sure.”

“I wish I had been there to do more for you. I hate that _he_ is the one who freed you, and them. I wish I had been stronger and fought Vengeance more, or was a better person,” Leto said quietly before resting his head against Anders’ shoulder, while he tried to keep collected but he found it difficult with just the blond mage around.

“I don’t think Fenris had much choice,” said Anders thoughtfully. “Zevran figured out he wasn’t you pretty much straight away, apparently. It didn’t take him long to work out just what was going on between you three. He wasn’t going to lay into Zevran the way you used to, because - well, I never did hear why, but anyway, he didn’t. But he _did_ go visit Zevran twice in one day, which had everyone assuming Zevran must have really overstepped the mark somewhere - Vengeance insisted on standing at the bottom of the Rookery stairs and letting me listen to Zevran screaming - Maker, that was horrible.... and then Vengeance got antsy. I think it was when Vengeance started threatening Zevran that they decided they’d have to do something.”

He sighed. “I didn’t know much about what was going on, of course. Vengeance let me see hints here and there - horrifying little flashes. He let me listen when he told Fenris that if Zevran couldn’t stand in front of him the following day, then he was going to hang him. He let me watch afterwards - getting rope, talking aloud about how he’d let me have control when it would be too late, and -” He broke off and shuddered. He drew a slow breath, visibly pulling himself together.

“I don’t know how long he pushed me back into the darkness after that. But the next thing I knew, I had someone’s arm around my throat choking me, I’d been stabbed in the neck - and there was a sword protruding through my chest. I was dying. I thought it was you who held me, and... you pulled the sword out, and it hurt so bad... and then it all went dark. I thought I was dead.” 

“I wish I could have spared you the pain. _I_ made the promise, not him,” Leto said sadly. “You should probably make sure they don’t think I’m doing anything to you, if they come in and see me holding you like this,” he said before trying to pull away.

Anders tightened his hands on Leto. “Don’t pull away from me, Leto,” he said softly. “Let them come. Maybe if they see I’m not afraid to be held by you, they’ll realise that they shouldn’t fear you either.”

“They already hate me, I don’t want to give them more reasons,” Leto replied as he let Anders halt him. 

Anders snorted. “Dorian was convinced Fenris was using me as a body slave,” he replied. “He had me on my knees sucking him off under his desk. They haven’t accused you of that, have they? They were wrong, of course. But you have to understand, Leto - people jump to conclusions. Often wrong ones. They were wrong about that - and if they assume you’d do something to harm me? They’d be wrong about that too. Let them come; you’ve done nothing to me to be ashamed of, and I’m perfectly capable of telling them so myself. Don’t be afraid of them. They’re angry over what you did - yes. But frankly... there’s something deeply sick about Skyhold. A lot of things happened there that were wrong, dark, evil. What Vengeance made Zevran do... you never knew about it. No-one did, except for Vengeance, Zevran - and me. And I couldn’t tell anyone. But he was shredding the Veil, and the influence of that... it went all through Skyhold, Leto. It didn’t just affect Zevran - it would have been affecting you too, you just had no way of knowing it.”

He glanced towards the door. “And Zevran will hate me for saying this,” he went on, quieter. “But Zevran was using you for his own penance. And the demonic influences leaching through the Veil in the Rookery would have preyed upon you. None of you were in your right minds.”

“I figured as much when I could think more clearly once I woke up here. I resented Fenris so much for having such love in his life; I still do. People think I’m evil, but I’m not, Anders. I’m just broken, and after the last month, I’m scared that going back will put me right to how I was once we go back. If they let me go with them,” Leto said as he sniffed again, his tears falling silently.

Anders gazed up at him and lifted a hand to gently wipe a tear away from Leto’s cheek with his flesh-and-blood thumb. “Leto,” he said gently. “If you were truly evil, you wouldn’t have called me back by naming Ella to me. You wouldn’t have stopped Vengeance from committing his atrocities openly - you saved a lot of innocents, Leto. You kept things on track. And when I went to pieces, you were there to hold me together when Vengeance let me go briefly. If you were truly evil... you wouldn’t have done that.” He smiled softly. “The reason I’m as sane as I am now, is because you helped me hold on to my sanity, even in the darkness that Vengeance trapped me in. The year I spent in solitary in Kinloch was nothing compared to the solitary of my own mind, Leto - and if you hadn’t kept me grounded whenever I was briefly free of him then I would have gone mad. An evil man wouldn’t have done that. And you did. You cared.”

“Thank you...I don’t feel like I’m not evil honestly. What man could do that to someone he cares for? I already felt terrible for what I’d done to all of you, but whatever their Anders did...it felt like I was getting beaten, hurt all at once and it was so painful, it hurt so much...to think I did that to them, it sickens me. How much of a monster am I? If it wasn’t in my heart to begin with, how else could I have been influenced by the torn Veil?” Leto curled closer to Anders, sobbing quietly as he fell apart finally.

“All men have their own dark desires and thoughts,” said Anders quietly. “Twisted little musings we would never dream of revealing to anyone else. One man might have unwanted thoughts about what it would feel like to whip someone. Another man may have harboured for years a dark desire to be whipped. Neither kink in of itself is necessarily evil, Leto. But let both men fall under the influence of a thin Veil, and what might start out as fun bedroom games can take a far darker turn and get out of hand. If one of those men is prone to outbursts of anger... a Rage demon would take advantage of that, nudge him into greater rages. A minor irritation becomes a major one. Something that would otherwise be shaken off as trivial becomes a reason for fury. And if the other man already feels he needs to serve penance for something he’s been forced to do?” he sighed. “I’m not going to excuse the fact that you did hurt them both pretty badly, and Zevran’s lucky he’s alive to resent you for it... but you were both prey for demons, and both victims.”

“Ok...ok,” Leto replied softly as he remained where he was, sad and broken by what Fenris’ Anders had unleashed on him. He let his Anders hold him as much as he was hanging on to the other mage.

“You’re all wounded; all hurting,” went on Anders. “The last thing any of you need is to perpetuate that hurt. You don’t heal a lanced wound by picking at it.”

“I just want to be quiet, no one cares about how I feel. Not after what I’ve done to them,” Leto replied tiredly. “I just want to sleep until we get to go back, unsure if I still want to call it home.”

“That’s not true, Leto,” said Anders gently. “ _I_ care. I wouldn’t be in here if I didn’t.”

“Sorry, you care. They don’t,” he replied before he pulled away to wipe his face dry. “I’m sorry to get you all wet, I think I just want to sleep for a while, or just lie there hating myself until I sleep,” Leto said quietly, unable to look Anders in the face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” smiled Anders ruefully. “I did already get your tunic wet, after all.” He gestured to the damp patch where he’d sobbed on the elf earlier. “Turn and turn about.” He sighed. “There’s no point in telling you not to do the whole self-hating thing, I suppose. But please take it from me, Leto - it’s really not much fun.” He gave him a sad smile. “But if you’re determined... let me lie here with you?”

“If you want, it won’t be much fun though. I’m sure the others are better company than I am,” Leto said as he untangled himself and headed for the bed, pulling off his tunic and shoes, curling up under the thin covers and facing the wall.

Anders stood and stripped off before sliding into the bed to spoon up against Leto. “Actually... I could do with a little quiet rest,” he confided softly. “And sometimes three is a crowd, you know? I’m sure they appreciate some time with just the two of them together. Just... if I fall asleep? I, ah, apologise in advance if I have a nightmare and disturb you.” He grimaced slightly.

“The same goes for me, I haven’t been...right since he did whatever that was to me. If I wake up and scream at the sight of you, it's not your fault,” Leto said quietly, glad for the other man at his back, and the arm around his middle, though he wasn’t sure if Anders would want more if there was an opportunity. “Thank you for checking on me, it means a lot,” he murmured before closing his eyes.

“How could I not?” murmured Anders. “You’ve looked out for me all these years. I wasn’t going to leave you to rot in your own misery.” He closed his eyes, pressing himself close against Leto’s back. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Less than I should be,” Leto murmured softly, but was soon snoring and deep asleep. Anders followed him down into sleep only a little while after, drifting off peacefully. Neither man stirred as the door was eased open silently a while later and Zevran edged into the room. He stood at the side of the bed, staring down at the two sleeping men.

“Zevran?” murmured Dorian; Zevran put a finger to his lips and Dorian fell silent as the Antivan moved around the bed on silent feet to stare at them, a small frown on his face as he glanced at Leto as he slept, then at the slender blond mage spooned up against his back, face buried in Leto’s hair, one hand draped limply around Leto’s waist. Then silently he edged from the room, with one last glance back at the two sleeping men before he ushered Dorian from the room and silently drew the door closed.

Leto had fallen into a deep slumber easily but his mind would not let him rest as well as he’d hoped. Soon he was dreaming of terrible things he’d done to Zevran, and other things that he’d never do - but his unsettled thoughts were easy prey for all that he was worried about. Soon he was screaming out Zevran’s name, apologies for things, terrible things even he couldn’t have done at his worst. 

Anders was startled awake with a cry of his own, the screaming so close to him for a minute bringing up terrible associations of its own until his eyes snapped open and the screaming was continuing. Leto was thrashing about; Anders took an elbow to the ribs as he tried to back away from the elf enough to try and sit up.

“Leto - Leto!” he called loudly, even as the door burst open and Zevran burst in, a blade in his hand that he’d somehow liberated from somewhere.

Leto opened his eyes to see Zevran wielding a blade, sure he was about to meet his end. “No...I’m sorry, please don’t!” he whispered as he scooted backward until he was against the headboard. 

Anders turned, clutching his ribs with one hand whilst he flung out his other hand to ward off the elf. “Zevran, no - stand down!” he cried. “It’s all right, it was just a nightmare!”

The Antivan had a wild-eyed look about him as he looked from Anders to the terrified other elf.

“The things he was screaming....” Zevran started slowly. “That... he dreamed of far worse than even I suffered at his hands. As though the things I did at the behest of Vengeance had contaminated _his_ nightmares....”

“Doubtless our conversation before we fell asleep was to blame there,” said Anders, a little wild-eyed himself with hair dishevelled and tousled from sleep. “Should have guessed really.” He eyed the knife dubiously. “Er, Zevran? I know the guards haven’t given you your blades back yet... where’d you get the knife?”

“This?” asked Zevran, and shrugged nonchalantly. “I stole it from the guard who opened the door for our meal last night.” He sheathed it. “When he screamed, I thought perhaps someone had broken in... or that he had turned on you.”

Anders ran a hand through his hair. “No, nothing like that. Just... bad dreams.”

Zevran’s eyes went to Leto again. “I am not going to kill you,” he said flatly. “Do not look so afraid.”

Leto just stared at him, more through him as he saw the knife, and thought of what he’d been doing in his dreams, or were they dreams at all? The other elf seemed too well for what he’d put him through. He didn’t move, he simply stayed where he was, warily watching the Antivan.

Anders was hunched over slightly; there was a large bruise steadily purpling now over his ribs. “Zevran, the man’s barely half-awake yet from a dream in which he was doing the Maker only knows what to you, and then you’ve burst in here with a knife. He’s going to be a little freaked out - Andraste’s tits, if _I’d_ been the one waking from one of my nightmares? Seeing you waving a knife around, I’d _still_ be screaming my head off, believe me - be lucky if I didn’t damn well piss myself, frankly. You can cut him some slack for once, alright?”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry!” Leto said as he watched Zevran, remaining totally still and backed away from them like a frightened cat more than a warrior. 

Zevran stared at Leto. “Are you? What are you sorry for?” he asked quietly. “What did you see in this dream that had you screaming my name?”

“Everything... Please let me go, I’m sorry!” Leto repeated as he tried to get away from the Antivan, sure he was there for revenge, still tethered to the nightmares that had woken him screaming.

“I have not touched you,” pointed out the Crow in a far too reasonable tone of voice. “I have sheathed my blade. What have you done to me, Leto? Did you kill me, in your dream? Am I dead?”

“No...stop this, stop!” Leto said as he finally curled up and tried to make the nightmare end. “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming...make it stop!” 

Anders turned back towards him, one hand still raised up to ward off Zevran as with the other he carefully reached out to Leto. “Zevran, I need you to back away slowly, please,” he said softly. “He’s not fully awake yet.”

“He has already hurt you,” pointed out the assassin. “He may lash out at you and think you part of his dream.” He had lowered his voice.

“I’ll take that risk, thank you,” said Anders firmly yet quietly. “Please, do as I say.”

Zevran backed away slowly as Anders turned his full attention to the white-haired elf, moving to place himself in the way of his view of Zevran. 

“Leto? Leto, you’re dreaming. Whatever you’re seeing... it isn’t real,” he said gently as he reached out to lay his living hand on the elf’s forearm. “It’s me, Anders. You’re safe, it’s OK. It’s time to wake up now, alright?”

Leto touched the other man’s hand, slow and easy before looking into his eyes. “Anders...what...what happened? Why are you staring at me like this?” he asked shakily as he sat up and tried to shake off the last of his dreams before looking up to see Zevran and Dorian in the room. “Why are they in here?” he asked quietly.

“Welcome back,” Anders said wrily. “You had a nightmare. Quite the unpleasant one, if the screaming was anything to go by. You were thrashing around and yelling Zevran’s name; woke me up and brought them running. But you’re awake now.”

Leto looked down as he felt a flush creep over his face and neck. “That’s embarrassing; Dumat, I feel like a child;” he said as he wished they would stop staring at him. “Make them leave, I don’t want them looking at me like that,” he said just loud enough for Anders to hear him.

“Why were you screaming my name?” asked Zevran quietly, his expression troubled. “What happened to me, in your dream? Was I dead?”

“I’m not answering you, leave me alone and go talk to your _carissimi_!” Leto snarled before untangling himself from the bedding and heading towards his usual spot in the window. 

Zevran visibly recoiled, looking, if anything, even more disturbed and troubled by that.

“Leto,” said Anders quietly as he rose from the bed. “You didn’t hear yourself screaming. Whatever it was you dreamed of... it terrified you, and you were reacting to something that had happened to Zevran. It’s... not unfair of him to wonder what it was you saw, when you screamed his name like that.” He drew closer. “Remember what I said before?” he added, quietly. “Don’t blame him for how he has reacted. You’re all victims here, and really... does Zevran truly deserve to be snarled at? You unnerved us all, Leto. And we’re all worried.” 

Quieter, he added, “ _Look_ at them, Leto. Just for one moment. Actually _look_ at them. Don’t just see what you expect to see, but take a good look.”

“I had killed him in my nightmare. I went too far and I couldn’t bring him back, I couldn’t heal him. I proved myself the monster they think me to be,” Leto said without turning around, unable to see the reaction to his words. 

“There was grief in your voice,” said Dorian quietly from the door. “Whatever it was you did that resulted in his death in your dream... you didn’t want him to die. You were horrified and filled with grief and remorse.”

“Yes, because I _do_ feel,” Leto said bitterly, his back rigid as he sat there staring out at the sky, wishing he was anywhere else but there. 

“You went too far with me twice,” said Zevran softly. “I nearly died each time, but did not. You took care of me afterwards. You were gentle with me throughout my healing. You showed remorse then - and I do not think it was because you had nearly broken a favourite toy or plaything. You... cared... that you had hurt me.”

Anders rested his hand on Leto’s shoulder gently.

“Make them leave me alone, I just want to be quiet and miserable for a while,” Leto said quietly as he reached up to cover Anders’ hand with his. “Please.”

Anders glanced back at them, worried; Zevran bowed his head briefly and backed away, then headed back towards the other room, still looking shaken as he pushed Dorian ahead of him and closed the door behind him.

“It’s just us, now,” said Anders quietly.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t ….I can’t talk about those terrible dreams. I just want to be alone for awhile please. Can you lock the door when you go?” Leto said quietly.

Anders stared down at him, not wanting to leave him in that state. “Leto....” he said softly.

“Unfortunately,” the elf said quietly, his voice hitching as he turned to face the blond mage finally. “I’m broken, just...I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

Anders smiled sadly. “Welcome to my world,” he replied gently. “It’s not a very nice one, I’m afraid. And I wish I had answers. But all we can do is just keep putting one foot in front of the other, just keep... finding our way in the dark. Kitten steps.” He glanced to one side as he tucked a stray strand of hair back out of Leto’s face, behind his ear. “You get used to it, after a while... and then you find after a bit that it doesn’t hurt quite so much, and then you find a year’s gone by and... you’re still there. Still living, still breathing, still surviving. And you carry on.” He finally let his eyes meet the emerald green eyes of Leto. “Still working on that bit.”

“How can you be so kind and supportive when I’ve caused so much harm to them? You should be with them, be safe and away from the monster among you. I just wish I was what you deserved,” Leto said quietly before leaning into Anders’ arms and sighing. “I’m sorry for scaring you with my nightmares, I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Anders drew a sharp breath but schooled his face before he could wince. “Why would I want to be with them?” he asked. “They didn’t know me before I gave in to my despair and corrupted Justice. You are the one who knew the best of me - and you stayed beside me even through the worst of me. You’re the only constant I’ve had in my life, Leto. You were the one who held me when I fell to pieces after Ella. You’re the one who was there for me each time I fell apart when Vengeance let me go. You’re no monster to me, Leto. And as for scaring me... it was only because I was afraid _for_ you, Leto, not _of_ you.”

“I don’t know...it just seems like after what I’ve done no one would want me around,” Leto replied quietly. “Maybe I should just shut up and be grateful for you being here.” 

Anders gave him a small grin. “Maybe you should at that,” he teased. “Or do you still want to push me out the door after the other two? I shan’t be happy if you do, I can tell you that now! I’ll, I’ll....” He folded his arms and stared down at Leto. “I shall _pout_ at you, if you do!”

Leto gave him a shy smile. “We can’t have that at all,” he said as he pulled at the mage’s hands and tugged him forward. “Thank you, sorry to be so...to be like this when you’re trying to help.” He looked at Anders and leaned in to kiss his cheek quickly before he lost his nerve. “I’m glad for you.”

Anders’ eyes widened a little at the kiss, and there was a little hitch to his breath. “Please don’t tease me like that,” he murmured with a sad smile. “Or I won’t be able to resist kissing you back. I know you still miss Endrin.”

“I do but I’ve accepted he’s gone,” Leto said sadly as he leaned back. “I won’t overstep my bounds but ...if you wish me to go on, and that it's ok, I could use some affection.”

Anders gave a nervous laugh. “If I wish...! Leto, you... you really have no idea of the effect on me, do you?” he murmured. “OK? Maker, I... you....” He managed a faint whimper.

“Is... that a no, then?” asked Leto, a little disappointed. “I understand. Forgive me, I -”

He got no further as Anders caught his face between his hands, bent and kissed him.

As Leto’s arms drew him down into his lap, Anders’ eyes fluttered closed and he tilted his head back so the elf could deepen the kiss; the mage was making little desperate panting noises and moans as his lips parted for Leto’s tongue to delve into his mouth, tasting deeply of him as Anders’ hands released the elf’s face to instead drape over Leto’s shoulders, surrendering himself completely to Leto’s embrace as he lifted a hand to cradle the back of Anders’ head with one hand, the other tightening around the slender man’s waist.

Anders gasped into Leto’s mouth as his bruised ribs protested, then he moaned as the elf ran a large, warm hand slowly up and down his back. As Leto tightened his hand in the soft, silky blond hair and tugged slightly, Anders obediently tilted his head back with another gasp, panting as Leto mouthed at his neck.

“Please... oh yes....” Anders whispered as he felt the lightest touch of Leto’s teeth lightly grazing his skin before fastening to his throat to kiss hard there, drawing the blood to the surface as he mouthed and suckled hard to leave a lurid purple rose blooming beneath the pale skin before moving on to fasten to his throat a little way over, Anders panting and moaning agreement.

Slowly Leto trailed a garland of bruised roses around the blond mage’s throat, standing out in rich hues of red and purple against the pale skin as Anders pressed himself against him with pants and soft moans. “Leto... oh Leto....” he managed breathlessly.

“Tell me you want this, Anders,” murmured the elf. “Tell me you want this as much as I do....”

“Leto... Maker... yes, _yes_....” Anders gasped. “Please... please, let me suck your cock? Please, I want to taste....”

The elf let Anders slide to the floor and reached for the waistband of his pants, but Anders laid his hand over the elf’s fingers. “Please... let me?” he pleaded.

Leto sat back, his hands draped over the arm rests of the chair as Anders leaned forward, nuzzling his growing erection through the fabric of his trousers before deftly unlacing his pants. Leto lifted his hips enough for Anders to tug the fabric down his thighs to pool around his knees before leaning forward again to mouth his cock through the thin fabric of his smallclothes.

Leto let his head drop back with a low groan as he felt Anders’ breath, his mouth on his cock through the thin fabric, lapping at the small damp patch where already a spot of precome had welled up. Anders nuzzled it with his long aquiline nose and Leto groaned again.

Anders tugged at the waistband of Leto’s smallclothes, and again the elf lifted his hips so Anders could peel them down, freeing his erection. He leant in again, nuzzling right down to the root of Leto’s thick cock, running it along the long length then back to the root again.

Leto groaned, his hands now clutching the armrests. He would never have dreamed that something like this - Anders nuzzling his cock with his nose - could feel so unexpectedly erotic and pleasurable.

And then Anders wrapped his lips around the head of Leto’s cock and suckled lightly, laving it with his tongue and running it along the slit to taste the precome beading there, and a deep, heartfelt groan came from the elf.

He stared down at Anders, who gave him a cheeky grin around a mouthful of cock as he sank down onto it, swallowing down half his length in one long, smooth plunge until it barely touched the back of his throat, running firm pressure down its length with his tongue as he suckled on it, drawing back until it slipped free of his mouth. He gently breathed on the wet skin and Leto gasped softly at the cool sensation then groaned again as Anders swallowed him down again, almost to the base this time.

Leto threaded a hand into Anders’ hair then tightened it, tugging slightly; Anders moaned around Leto’s cock as he swallowed him down again then drew back, swirling his tongue around the head before taking him down to the root, the elf’s cocl sliding those final inches into Anders’ throat; and then he swallowed around the thick, long member and Leto moaned louder.

He tugged the long blond hair in his fist, and Anders obediently sped up as the elf dictated the pace now. Anders lifted his flesh-and-blood hand to wrap it around the base of Leto’s cock, pumping it slowly between each swallow, his lips meeting his hand, steadily faster, faster, faster as Leto’s breath sped up to pants until he felt a tightening in his groin and pushed Anders slowly away. 

“Easy there; I don’t want to come yet,” Leto panted. Anders merely grinned. Then he rose to his feet and slowly slipped his own pants down to his ankles, revealing that he wore nothing beneath. He stepped out, then took a step back towards the bed.

“I think you’re overdressed,” he said with a coy smile. He stretched himself out on the bed as Leto rose to finish shucking his pants and smallclothes, glad he’d undressed down to just them earlier. He climbed up onto the bed and Anders spread his legs as Leto settled himself between them leaning over Anders. He bent down to kiss and worry at Anders’ bottom lip with his teeth.

“ _Venhedis_ , you are so beautiful,” breathed Leto. “I can’t wait to be inside you.”

“You have no idea how much I want that,” murmured Anders. “I want to feel you fill me and fuck me so hard I forget my own name.”

“I think I can arrange that,” smiled Leto then glanced down as he caught sight of the bruise. “When did that happen? Did I do that?” he asked, concerned.

“I don’t remember,” breathed Anders. “Kiss me again.”

Leto smiled and leaned forward to kiss him as Anders pressed a hand to the bruise, letting healing energy flow into it. The elf groaned as he felt the healing magic rippling through the other man, bringing his own magic welling up, running quicksilver through his veins as his brands lit up softly. He drew away with a faint gasp and gazed down at the blond mage who merely smiled. The bruise was healed.

Anders shifted the attunement of his magic, tapping into his mana once more; with a touch of creative magic he called up a handful of slick in the palm of his natural hand.

“Allow me?” breathed Leto as he sat up, reaching for Anders’ hand. Anders stretched out his hand as the elf coated his own with the grease, and then Anders hooked his hands beneath his thighs and drew his legs up, spreading himself for Leto’s touch.

The elf leaned forward, bracing himself on his other hand as he bent down to kiss Anders again, the mage moaning into Leto’s kiss, panting as he felt the elf’s slick finger circling his entrance before slowly pushing in to the first joint. Leto slowly pumped his finger inside Anders as he panted and moaned, his breathing speeding up as he gazed up at Leto, feeling the elf’s finger slowly, steadily breaching his ring of muscle as it pushed in, the full length reaching inside him.

He thrust slowly, steadily with his finger for a while before slipping in a second finger, kissing Anders with light, gentle lips and nips of his teeth, grazing Anders’ bottom lip as the mage gasped and arched his back slightly.

“Good?” murmured Leto.

“Mmmm,” nodded Anders. “More?”

Leto chuckled as he scissored his fingers deep inside Anders then slipped a third finger in and steadily yet slowly thrust into Anders’ willing body. The blond mage was panting steadily now, his face flushed as he arched his back and canted his hips so Leto could thrust deeper. Then the elf twisted his wrist on the next thrust so his fingers brushed Anders’ sweet spot as they withdrew, and Anders cried out, throwing his head back as he shuddered.

Leto repeated the thrust and brushed Anders’ sweet spot again, again and again as the mage writhed beneath him, shuddering and begging for more, more, _more_.

Then Leto called up slick in his own hand and swiftly coated his cock before pressing the head against Anders’ entrance.

“Ready?” he asked gently.

“Maker, _yes!_ panted Anders. “You bloody tease - fuck me already!”

Leto chuckled then leaned forward, slowly pushing his cock steadily into Anders’ body until he was fully sheathed inside the slender man’s tight, wet, hot passage. “Fuck, Anders,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

“Move... please?” Anders begged.

Leto began to move, slowly at first, rolling his hips and he leaned forward on his hands, and then as Anders gasped little pleas, he began to thrust steadily. As he sped up, Anders’ panted breaths became small gasped cries on each thrust until Anders was whimpering and moaning, Leto snapping his hips faster as he pumped steadily into Anders. Faster and faster, Anders’ cries cresting higher and louder until Leto lifted a hand to press it gently over Anders’ mouth to muffle his cries.

“Are you alright with this?” he said, breathless; Anders nodded and made an encouraging noise. Taking that as consent, Leto began to fuck him in earnest, shifting to change his angle. He knew he’d hit the right angle when Anders arched up into it, crying out on each stroke, his groans muffled and stifled by Leto’s hand. 

He knew he was driving Anders close to the edge as Anders’ pants came faster, more frantic, until finally with a shudder the blond mage came hard and messily over his stomach.

Leto suddenly grasped Anders and rolled them over so the mage was now astride Leto, riding his cock as the elf fucked up into him, bracing his feet on the bed as his hips snapped up, faster and faster as he chased his own orgasm.

“ _Venhedis_ \- so tight!” he grunted. He was close, he knew it; he could feel heat low in his groin, his balls tightening, until with a shudder and a groan he came hard, deep inside Anders.

The mage gasped as he felt Leto’s spend, hot and wet, deep inside.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers - so large!” he gasped as Leto’s thrusts slowed then became a slow roll of his hips.

Anders panted, leaning forward as he tried to lift himself, and then he laughed, breathlessly.

“Oh, _venhedis_ \- I forgot to warn you, I-” began Leto.

“It’s alright,” laughed Anders. “Maker... oh... I can feel your knot. You have no idea how good this feels, Leto!”

“Are you sure?” asked the elf, concerned as he grasped Anders’ wrists, staring up at him.

In answer, Anders rolled his hips as he ground down on the knot buried deep inside him. They both groaned, and then Anders grinned.

“I feel so full, so stretched,” he panted. “Feels so good... I could almost come from this, if I weren’t so exhausted.”

“You’re sure you’re alright?” said Leto; Anders merely smiled.

“Told you; I’m fine, love,” he grinned as he rolled his hips again. 

“Love? You...you feel that way about me then?” Leto asked as he rested his hands on Anders’ hips, staring into the amber eyes with uncertainty.

Anders’ eyes widened as the import of the small endearment slipping out like that sank in, and then his amber gaze softened. “I... it just... came naturally to me,” he said breathlessly. “I... do you....” His expression mirrored Leto’s uncertain gaze.

“I do… I was afraid you wouldn’t remember or want that from me,” Leto admitted.

Anders stared down at him, and his eyes glimmered with tears though he was smiling tremulously. “It... it came back to me,” he gasped. “I - I lay awake, aching for you for three long years, I... Maker, how did I forget that? Forget _you_ like that?” He gasped then smiled wider as the tears ran down his cheeks. “I love you, Leto,” he cried softly.

“I love you too Anders.” Leto said as he leaned up and kissed the other man slow and easy, gently pulling him to the side as he rolled over, letting Anders legs rest over his hip while the blond was put on his back. Leto rolled his hips slowly, letting the other mage feel him deep inside while they were held together.

Anders moaned, arching his neck back, and Leto leaned forward to mouth and kiss the garland of bruises around Anders’ throat before holding him, gently. They lay like that, exchanging soft, loving kisses, until finally he felt his knot loosen, his cock softening to slip free from Anders’ body and he drew the mage into his arms, their legs entwined as Anders chased his kisses with faint moans. Finally Anders’ eyes slowly drifted shut, and the elf held him close as the blond mage drifted into slumber.

Leto held Anders close, arms wrapped around him protectively as the slender man slept deeply and peacefully; and he wondered at how, in the midst of the ruins of his life, he had been so fortunate to rediscover one shining light of hope and happiness.

Cradling Anders in his arms, he followed his lover into sleep.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto refuses to believe Zevran - and the Antivan comes to regret his confession.

Dorian paced, restless. 

“I don’t like this, _amatus_ ,” he said. “Bad enough that Fenris took advantage of him - but now Leto? We _know_ what he’s capable of! Anders doesn’t deserve that!”

“Come, now, _carissimi_ ,” replied Zevran as he sat crosslegged on the bed in the main room. He was sharpening his purloined dagger, glancing up at the pacing magister from time to time. “Anders is a far more powerful and experienced mage than he, yes? If Leto tried to hurt him, he is capable of defending himself.”

“You saw that bruise!” argued Dorian. “That was cracked ribs at the very least!”

“And we both saw how Leto was thrashing in his nightmare,” replied Zevran.

“You are taking this far too calmly,” remarked Dorian. “You’ve suffered at his hands far more than I have, Zevran - but we _both_ know what the man’s capable of.”

“And the other Anders showed him precisely how that felt for me,” shrugged the Antivan. “You were not there. He broke the blood magic woven upon me, and then he took all the pain, the agony that was inflicted upon me - the feeling of every whip stroke, every blow from his fist, every injury he ever gave me - and made Leto experience it all in the space of a few heartbeats. Leto has experienced an overload of my pain, and after an experience like that, it is a wonder he has retained any sanity. But I am certain he will never inflict such suffering on another.”

Dorian halted and stared at him sombrely. “I have no idea what he did to you, _amatus_ ,” he said quietly. “But I have heard your agonised screaming. I never want to hear that again - and I have no wish to hear Anders scream like that.”

Zevran laid the blade and whetstone down and looked up at Dorian. “It was my penance and punishment,” he said quietly. “But you and I could both hear what Anders was saying. And he is right; there is a sickness in Skyhold, and it is because of what Vengeance did and forced me to do. After committing such horrors, I _wanted_ to be punished - and Leto had ever been prone to anger. It was not hard to goad him into taking it out on me, and under the influence of that sick, diseased place, his anger and dark desires were magnified.” He bowed his head. “As was my self-hatred. I thought I deserved it.”

Dorian crossed to him and laid a hand gently on Zevran’s shoulder. “ _Amatus_ , no-one deserved that, least of you.”

Zevran looked up with a sad smile. “Oh, I know that _here, carissimi_ ,” he said, tapping his temple with one forefinger. “But here?” He tapped his opposite temple. “Here there is a small voice that whispers that I am a monster, unworthy, the lowest of the low; a killer, a butcher of innocents, a filthy whore and that I deserve it. And although the blood magic has been broken, still I have had these thoughts for so long that a part of me still craves it. I have to fight the ingrained habit of dropping to my knees when he stands by the bed. He lifts a hand and I brace myself for the blow - and when it does not fall, I am relieved - but that part of me is disappointed.”

Dorian sat down on the bed and drew Zevran gently into his arms, running a hand slowly through the elf’s pale gold hair. “Oh, _amatus_ ,” he murmured. “No-one shall ever raise their hand to you like that again as long as I live, I swear. When we return to our own Thedas, we shall leave Skyhold. We shall get away from that plagued place.”

He leaned back slightly and grasped Zevran’s hands. “Come with me to Tevinter. Be with me there. I shall have that young elven woman, Ellowynne, teach me her portal magic. We shall return to our Skyhold only long enough to retrieve our belongings, and then I shall open a portal directly to my estate in Minrathous and we shall never set foot in that accursed place ever again.”

“Elves are poorly treated in Tevinter, _carissimi_ ,” replied Zevran with a wry smile. “They would not look kindly upon me - or upon you for having an elf for a lover.”

“I don’t care - let them gossip, I shall not hide my love from view. I’m done with hiding that part of myself, _amatus_ ,” Dorian declared. “Living in the south has shown me that there is nothing to be ashamed of in two men loving one another - or an elf and a human choosing to live their lives together. And you are not merely one more elf - you are a Crow. Indeed, the Crow _Master_. The Crows are feared and respected even in Tevinter; should I appear with you at my side? They will not dare to openly challenge me.”

“Perhaps,” shrugged the Antivan. “We shall see. First, let us return home; then? We shall see what comes. Whether Anders remains with Leto or comes with us, first we must ensure his safety. They will believe him dead at my hand; we will have to persuade them that he is no threat and deal with their anger that I have not killed him.”

“He’s a spirit healer,” declared Dorian. “You would think that would be enough for them, now he’s freed of his demon; healers are rare, after all, and the Inquisition has never had enough healers. You’d think they’d be glad for his presence. I suppose if they believe Leto has taken him for a lover or body slave, they’ll be more likely to tolerate him. But I still don’t have to like it. Bad enough Fenris used him like that.”

Zevran gave him a steady look. “Anders said himself that he did that willingly,” he pointed out.

“Dumat, Zevran, the poor sod has lost most of his memories; he was taken advantage of in his vulnerable state!”

“You cannot know that,” replied the elf unperturbed as he took up the knife and whetstone. “Anders is a man who knows his own mind, I think; he will not appreciate you crusading upon his behalf, hmm? Calm yourself, _carissimi_.”

Dorian sighed. “I can only pray you are right, _amatus_ ,” he said. “ _Venhedis_... I loved Leto once. I can’t help but feel that the man I loved was a myth... a carefully-crafted persona who never truly existed. When I realised the depths of depravity he was capable of....”

Zevran glanced up at him. “No, _carissimi_. I think perhaps the truth lay somewhere in between, yes? No man is purely good or purely evil, and what Anders said made much sense even to this poor Antivan boy, who knows so little of demons and magic. We are all of us different here to how we were there. Leto himself said, did he not, that whilst he has been here he has found himself more clear-thinking? _Carissimi_ , Fenris opened our minds and showed us that we did not have to live in the way we had been; that I did not deserve such abuse - and nor did you. He showed that the Inquisition did not need to exist anymore - that indeed, it had outlived its purpose. Why should Leto not have been likewise changed by being here, away from the influence of a thinned Veil and demons preying on us all?”

Dorian shook his head. “How can you forgive him so easily? After all you suffered?”

“Perhaps my eyes have been opened too, hmm?” answered the elf, running his eye critically along the blade before taking up a cloth and beginning to polish and buff the smooth metal. “This Anders... he is a gentler creature and yet he has a fire inside him for compassion, I think. And he speaks sense. If he chooses to trust Leto... then perhaps he has reason to. And I think we must trust Anders. But that does not mean I forgive Leto. Merely... that perhaps I understand him a little better, yes?”

Dorian sighed and sat back. “I think we’re going stir-crazy in here, _amatus_ , and I am simply frustrated.”

“You, at least, are free to leave,” shrugged Zevran. “I must wait until they decide that I have killed no-one here and am therefore free to go - or find some evidence against me. Until then, if I set foot outside these rooms then they will throw me into the dungeons again - and I think they will be even less gentle with me than they were before, no?”

“And how many knives will you have liberated from the guards by the time they decide you are innocent and return your own weapons to you?”

Zevran’s only answer was a chuckle as he bent over the stolen knife and returned to polishing it.

 

**

Leto had woken before Anders and laid there thinking, as the blond man slept in his arms without a care in the world. He was surprised at how easily the other mage trusted him, declared how he loved him. He kissed the other man on the cheek before realizing that they were both a bit sticky, and flaky. The elf slid out of bed to get soapy cloths and maybe a change of sheets after feeling the mess from their lovemaking. He was quick about it, gentle enough though Anders didn’t move or even flick an eye open at being handled. 

Once Leto had gotten Anders cleaned off, he pulled the top sheet away and drew the covers over Anders again, taking longer to clean himself up and dress in just pants; after all, the others had seen all of him before and his tunic was wadded up somewhere. He slipped out of the room to find Dorian and Zevran together, chatting quietly. He watched them, but waited for someone else to speak.

Dorian appeared oblivious to the door opening behind them, but Zevran fell silent for a moment.

“Good afternoon, Leto,” he announced, and Leto swore he could hear a smile in the Antivan’s voice. Dorian started then looked around, surprised.

“Arainai,” Leto replied slowly, not liking the grin he was getting from the other elf.

Zevran glanced over his shoulder at Leto, his smile sly, his golden eyes holding a hint of mischievousness . “You are nervous of me, Leto?” he asked softly. “Hmm, now why could that be?” He picked up the blade he’d been polishing, keeping his eye on Leto as he flipped it then caught it, sheathing it at his hip without looking at it.

Leto swallowed and backed up to the door, ready to go back and hide with Anders. He kept an eye on the dagger, and on the elf while remaining silent. 

Dorian laid a hand on Zevran’s shoulder. “ _Amatus_ ,” he murmured. “Remember what you told me. Are you listening to that small voice?”

Zevran blinked, his gaze sliding away from Leto as the smile slipped from his lips, and then he turned his head away and bowed it. “I was,” he admitted. “It is... hard to break a habit so hard-formed. It has merely become my way.” He dropped his head to one hand as Dorian’s hand tightened on his shoulder, the magister’s gaze going to the white-haired elf as he frowned slightly.

“I’ll just go back in the room,” Leto said as he reached back to grab the handle. He was already not alright, but hearing _amatus_ given so gently to Zevran really did him in.

“Leto,” said Dorian quietly. “You... you can’t just hide in there forever, you know.”

Zevran lifted his head to stare at Dorian, and something seemed to pass unspoken between them before the magister looked back at Leto.

“We need to talk sooner or later. And... we can’t do that whilst you’re hiding away from us. We won’t bite, you know.”

“Unless you ask nicely,” added Zevran, with a flash of teeth as he grinned.

Leto glared at the comment but turned his attention back to Dorian. “You’ve made your choice, there’s nothing to discuss,” he said quietly.

“Isn’t there?” asked Dorian softly. “In the Fade, you called me ‘ _amatus_ ’. You said it was time to stop the dance we’d been doing around each other for over a year. I want to know... did you ever truly mean that? What would have happened, if I hadn’t dragged the wrong elf out of the Fade?”

“I meant it, but clearly it didn’t take much to forget me and go to his arms. Two weeks Dorian, you ...it wasn’t even a whole month! Yet you call him _amatus_ as easily as breathing, like the time we had meant nothing to you. So go be with your new _amatus_ and be well. I hope you’re happy together,” Leto replied, unable to keep the bitterness and hurt from his tone.

“You have no idea what happened during those two weeks,” said Dorian softly. “I learned that you were abusing Zevran and taking your temper out on him to spare me - and he was taking it willingly, even goading you into punishing him so you would come back to me sated and peaceful. Have you any idea how that made me feel? It wasn’t until Fenris dragged Zevran away from the Rookery and the influence of the thinned Veil there that Zevran himself began to see what was so wrong about that. And then Zevran nearly died; poison that was likely meant for me but was nearly the death of him.”

He glanced to Zevran. “He wasn’t nearly so terrifying once I got to know him... and... I came to care for him. Nearly losing him like that... _that_ terrified me, worse than any of his words or behaviour before you left. He was willing to risk his life to end the threat of Vengeance - and Vengeance did, indeed, nearly kill him. I wonder, would you have been as distraught over that as I was, Leto?”

Zevran had bowed his head as Dorian spoke, closing his eyes.

“We’d had a year in which we’d dallied around each other, Leto. You never gave me the impression that I was more than a casual bed partner until we were in the Fade. I’d hoped... but never dared ask. But Zevran... was open about it. He didn’t care who knew we shared a bed, even as Fenris tried to keep up a pretense. Even Vengeance didn’t buy it - he _knew_. When he attacked Zevran directly in my very room, he was looking me in the eye as he did it. It was as much to punish me as it was Zevran.” The magister looked up at Leto. “You make it sound as though I made my choice easily, with no thought. But you never gave me the chance to see if what we had was real, or if I was seeing only a carefully-crafted persona. I couldn’t understand how a man who could be so considerate of me could be capable of the depravities he inflicted on Zevran.”

“We heard Anders,” said Zevran in a low voice. “We understand more, now.”

“Well I didn’t exactly plan on getting pulled into another world you know,” Leto sniped. “If that had not happened, I wanted to talk to you Dorian, see if what we had could be more. But no, you didn’t even wait until I was back! Yes, I would have been distraught over Zevran, how dare you ask me that?” 

“Because you were nearly the death of him several times!” snapped Dorian, his eyes flashing angrily. “Love does not mean nearly flaying the flesh off a man’s back! It does not mean making him scream until his voice cracks! It does not -”

“Dorian.” Zevran’s voice was soft, faint; and yet Dorian shut up instantly. The Antivan glanced back over his shoulder, and his look now was pensive, remembered pain in his eyes. “Leto, if there is one who you should be angry at, he is not in this room. It is Fenris who changed us. For his own reasons, he saw fit to draw Dorian and I together. He is the one who opened our eyes to the sickness that had infected me. And Dorian went down to the hidden cell below the Rookery; he had a vision there, and saw what had been done to me. I do not think it would have occurred to him to do that if not for Fenris.”

He glanced back down at his hands. “That first night... I knew that Fenris was not you. I also knew that we would have to maintain a pretense, for fear of Vengeance. I did not expect him to show up in the Rookery later that night. I had been drinking... and he found me weeping over you. I still do not know if what I felt was truly love, merely infatuation, or only my own depraved nature longing for your abuse. And... I still crave it. I do not know if I will ever be able to overcome that; there is a darkness in me; a sickness of the spirit. I long for things I should not. But I wept for you... as did Dorian. He thought Fenris was you at first, and Fenris played along with that, calling him _amatus_.”

Dorian glanced away, biting his lip.

“It devastated him when he realised he had brought the wrong man back. And I do not think Fenris’ deception helped. It made him wonder what was truth, what was a lie? Though, I think I was worse.” Zevran sighed. “We were all living in a nightmare, and Vengeance’s corruption was tainting us all. Here, we are all beginning to find our true selves, I think. Do not blame Dorian; he did not forget you. We are simply trying to make sense of a world in which nothing is as it seemed, and we are both now questioning what was real and what was the influence of that place. The only thing we can be certain of is that what began between Dorian and I is real; we feel it here. But you are not the man we thought we knew, Leto. Here, you are a different man - and we do not know this man. And you have hidden from us and we have had no chance to learn what manner of man he is.”

Zevran turned fully to face Leto as he rose from the bed. He spread his hands a little, palm outwards, empty. “A man must talk to others before they can learn who he is, no?” 

Leto stared at him, angry, hurt and if he was honest with himself still scared of them, mostly Zevran. “Why should I talk to either of you? You certainly got together quick enough when it suited you, Fenris’ interference or no. I don’t trust that you’ll believe me no matter what I say or do, so why should I even try? You two have each other now, go and be happy together and let me be.” 

Zevran let his hands fall back to his sides. “Was I speaking to empty air, then?” he asked, his voice quiet, hurt in his eyes. “Did you hear nothing we have said? Do we truly sound like we would not listen? in what way have we earned your distrust, Leto?” He laughed, disbelievingly. “Leto, of us all, surely it is _I_ who have most cause to be distrustful? If I can stand here and ask you to talk, then why cannot you at least try? You, who have had your hands around my very throat so often and nearly choked the life from me - I stand here and I ask you, please - talk. If I can have trust that you will not raise a hand to me, how can you turn away and deny us this?”

Leto turned away as he fought the urge to lash out at them verbally, never again with his fists. He finally glanced at Zevran then Dorian and shrugged. “Fine, I’ll talk so you can stop this. What do you want to know then? What’s changed, what do you two want from me?”

“We have no idea what’s happened to you since you’ve been here,” said Dorian. “We... could hear some of what you and Anders have said. You mentioned you have been able to think clearer since being in this Thedas. Clearer in what way? how have _you_ changed, Leto?”

As he spoke, Zevran turned and walked away a little before turning and dropping down gracefully to the carpet to sit crosslegged, staring up at them both.

“I knew things I had done were wrong upon seeing them and their happy family, well happy as it could be with their Fenris missing,” Leto said, still with bitterness as he remained against the door as if it would protect him. “I had decided...I didn’t want to go back, I didn’t want to go back to a place where I could do such harm and then I wanted to go back but I knew I had to change if not ...if not stand up to Vengeance when I returned. I learned and saw what we were doing was not normal.” he finished.

“Why did you not stand up to Vengeance before?” asked Zevran quietly. “He had threatened me often enough in the past.”

“Zevran had always believed that it was _you_ who would hang him, that day in the great hall when he knelt before you in chains and you pardoned him,” said Dorian heavily. “When the bodies were found beneath the Rookery, we had to put on a mummery of a trial and confession, with Fenris - as you - granting him pardon. It brought back terrible memories from that first trial; it took us a while to realise that whilst it was all a show for us - for Zevran, he was reliving that memory. He truly believe that Fenris was about to hang him but had decided to pardon him.”

Zevran had bowed his head, staring at the carpet.

Leto glowered at them, then stared at the elf far too intently for a moment. “I would not have hung you. I couldn’t have, I cared… care for you and your death was not something I could have partaken in.” He looked back to Dorian before folding his arms and falling silent again.

“I had disappointed you,” said Zevran in a low voice. “My mistake had resulted in the deaths of many of your men. If you had decided to hang me, it was only what most would think I deserved. You were the one who held my life in your hand at that moment. I did not know until much later that it was Vengeance who had decreed I should die - and that you went against him to pardon me.”

“I would not have killed you or allowed him to have you hung. If things had progressed in the same way had I been there, I would have fulfilled my promise and taken out Vengeance,” Leto snarled.

Zevran visibly flinched, with a sharp inhalation of breath, his face turned aside.

“And you still flinch from me even when I am a little angry, so why should I believe there is any future for any of us still?” Leto asked.

Zevran straightened slowly. “I cannot help it,” he managed. “It... after so long, I cannot help it. It is my reflexes that have saved my life so often, but once learned, it is hard to unlearn. And I will not be able to unlearn it if you will not talk, allow me to learn this new Leto, learn that I do not need to fear him. Your anger in the past has always led to pain for me. It will take time to unlearn that.”

“I will try to curb my anger. But I am hurting...and feel thrown over for you Zevran. I just need time to deal with these changes amongst us,” Leto said quietly.

Zevran hunched over, pressing his fingertips to his forehead as if to ease a headache. “As must we all,” he murmured. “And this place is unfamiliar. And... I worry. The guards in the dungeons... they mentioned that they are still daily coming across places where the Venatori had attacked. After the things I confessed to... what if they find some family massacred by the Venatori and blame it upon me? I am innocent of any deaths in _this_ Thedas... but if they find evidence, then they will hang me.”

“Zevran,” said Dorian gently. “We will not let them do that.”

“And are you so sure that you could stop them?” muttered Zevran. “It is not you who dreams of the noose about their neck. I am so heartily sick of it.”

“What in Dumat’s name even possessed you to confess?” exclaimed Leto. “You must have known what would happen!”

“I thought I had killed the Zevran who lives in this Thedas,” replied Zevran, not looking up. “I was in shock. And when they arrested me and took me to the cells for questioning... I was not in my right mind. I thought... the interrogation room, where I tortured, slaughtered so many - I thought they would take me there, and I could not think straight. It all seemed some nightmare, and I was no longer certain what was real, what was a dream. I confessed without thinking. I could not get it out of my mind - the things I had done, the evils I had committed, and... I confessed to it all. They threw me in a cell, my wrists and ankles shackled, and I thought they would hang me. When they released me to Fenris, they warned him that should they find anything, I must go back to those cells, and I will hang.”

“ _Venhedis!_ ” swore Leto.

“Quite,” said Dorian faintly. 

“Why don’t you get the others, Invictus, the other Anders and you to tell them you were under duress. That there’s no way you could have committed any crimes here and get them to free you,” Leto suggested.

“I cannot do that without leaving these rooms,” Zevran pointed out, not raising his head. “Fenris and Invictus tried to tell them that I was delusional, that I had killed no-one here. But the commander of those guards... she said that they must make investigations, establish for themselves that there had been no deaths. If they should find bodies whose injuries match what I have told them? Then they will hang me. And we all know what butchery the Venatori committed upon their victims; if they find bodies? Then they will think they have their evidence. I am not sure how my innocence could be proven then.”

“Then get Fenris to talk to whoever let you out to him. The two Zevran’s together can explain that you can’t have possibly done these crimes,” Leto said tiredly. “Otherwise I have no ideas.”

“Leto, you know as well as I that if they think they have found their evidence, no amount of begging will persuade them to let Zevran go,” said Dorian darkly. “They will insist upon a trial and a hanging.”

“If they find bodies then I am a dead man,” said Zevran. “I do not wish to die.” He finally looked up at Leto, and the white-haired elf could read the fear plainly in the Antivan’s eyes.

“Was I taking to air? Dorian will you get Fenris and the other Zevran? See if they can help?” Leto replied wearily, unsure what else to do.

“I’ll fetch them - but this isn’t like our Thedas, Leto,” warned the magister. “There is no Inquisition here, and they hold no more rank than we do, right now.” He rose to his feet and headed off swiftly, leaving Leto and Zevran alone together.

The Antivan was staring at the ground again. “Forgive me,” he murmured. I have distracted you with my own worries.”

“Fine...just part of why I don’t like talking; no need for forgiveness,” Leto replied testily. 

Zevran ran a hand through his hair to flip it back out of his face as he tilted his head a little to one side and glanced up at the other elf. “It is something that has been upon my mind, but it was not an appropriate point at which to mention it,” he replied. “And there is the problem that is between us, eh? Always, I have been the impulsive one. A poor trait for an assassin who wishes to live a long life, perhaps, but the Crows were never able to break me of my impatience. Always, I wanted results immediately - a response, _something_. That was how it started between us, no?” He sighed. “I goaded, I pushed, and when it resulted in a little of what I needed... I learned I could get more if I just pushed _enough_.”

“That’s over, I don’t want you pushing or goading me anymore. I will not lay a hand in you to give you the darkness you crave, ever again, Zevran,” Leto said as he worried at one of his braids. “Besides, even if I was that foolish, I’m sure your _carissimi_ will keep me from raising a hand to you again.” 

Zevran shook his head. “No. I do not want that from you, Leto. I understand now that I dare not indulge that part of myself again - though it was innocent enough when we began, I was goading you into acts that I did not truly want when I was in my right mind. Do you remember - the Emerald Graves? We shared a tent there, whilst Dorian and the Inquisitor were elsewhere. And do you remember, I did not ask for it at all then? I could have; and it would have been easy for you to gag me or even silence me with magic, as you had done before. The others would not have known. But... I did not desire it, _need_ it, the way I seemed to in Skyhold. And then the moment we returned, I was deliberately defiant and humiliated you in front of both Dorian and the Inquisitor. You dragged me up the stairs to the Rookery, and one half of my mind was screaming that I did not want it - but the other half whispered that it did, and the nearer we got to my rooms, the angrier you became - and the louder that whisper grew.” He glanced away for a moment.

“No, Leto. I will never ask you for that again, and I do not wish that. But it began innocently enough. And though I feel a faint echo of it here, I do not have the intense craving I had there. When I was in the dungeon, I goaded the guards out of habit - I did not want that pain, and I fear going back there. They will be harder on me if I do.” He glanced up at the elf again. “Tell me. Do you feel the same rage you did there? You snarled at me just now... but you did not raise your hand to me. Was that because you were afraid to... or did you truly not wish to strike me?”

“No, I had no wish to strike you. I’d rather put all memory of the Inquisition behind me to be honest. Besides, I’m sure your new lover will take great care of you.” Leto knew he sounded bitter but he couldn’t muster enough energy to care.

“Why are they taking so long?” he muttered. 

“You must give Dorian time to reach them, and to ask them to come,” Zevran shrugged. “Perhaps they have gone straight to talk to the guards, or to whoever runs this place now there is no Inquisition.” He stared at the other elf. “Leto, I do not speak of the Inquisition merely to irritate you,” he said softly. “I am not goading now; I do not want your anger. I am trying to understand, yes? I know how you were _there_. I do not know how much of your behaviour was merely habit exacerbated by the influence of demons, and how much was truly you. You have changed... but I am afraid of what may happen when we return. The evil beneath the Rookery... what if it is still there, the Veil weak? My fear is that we will return and you will be angry again... and though we might wish to break that cycle, should you raise your hand to me I am afraid that I will once more listen to that whispering voice and welcome it. I do not wish you to strike me again, Leto. For my sake - but also for yours. You say you have changed. Help me understand how.”

“I told you how. I don’t want to return to Skyhold or the Inquisition. I want to go live quietly with Anders, if he’ll have me, and just be quiet. I’m tired of fighting other battles, I’m tired and I just want to rest. I don’t want to hit you or Dorian. I don’t want anything but to be left alone. Even if I have to move to the damned Anderfels for peace and quiet, I’ll do it.” Leto was sick of talking, especially with Zevran. He wished the other elf would just be quiet. 

Zevran frowned and stared down at the carpet again. “You... said that you cared for me,” he said quietly after a little while. “That you... care. I do not think you love me, Leto; I always knew that it was Dorian who held your affection. But... forgive me for asking you this. Do you consider me a... a friend?”

“Honestly, right now I don’t know. I’m tired, upset and still trying to deal with what that other Anders did to me. I know I hurt you, ab...abused you but getting everything all at once made me...it did something to me and I don’t like what I’m feeling or how I feel about me, Dorian, you...The Inquisition. I just need time to get my head and heart in a good place. I don’t want you to say you’re my friend because you fear me. Even now you flinch at me being a little sharp with no hint of me wanting to lay hands on you. That is not what friendship is, I think.” Leto rubbed his temples as he waited for the other elf to respond. 

“The only friend I had in Skyhold was Josie,” said Zevran softly. “I was never sure whether I was considered a friend by you, when we were away from that place, or just a colleague... and in it, I was merely... useful. Dorian feared me. And now, here, whilst Dorian cares for me, I do not have Josie and I have no other friends. I do not think Fenris considers me a friend; I think he is merely sorry for me, and I do not want the pity of any man. I do not know what Anders thinks of me - and _their_ Anders I think only broke the blood magic so that it would also break it upon his own Zevran. Or perhaps it was his own inner feelings of justice. We have all changed so much that....”

He sighed softly. “Perhaps I am better not knowing. And in any case, Crows do not have friends. Taliesen taught me that.”

“Why would you even want to be my friend? I’ve done nothing to earn it. I thought Dorian was a friend but I’m wrong about that. I’m used to being left to my own devices, I had to be once Endrin died.” Leto looked away at the mention of his long dead beloved. Though it had been many years, mention of him still hurt the elf.

“Just because a man is used to be alone, it does not mean a man has to enjoy being alone,” said Zevran slowly. “And when we were away from Skyhold, I... enjoyed being around you, Leto. And it was for you as a person; it was not about the sex or your cock - magnificent though it is.” He gave a small, wistful smile. “I came to look forward to those occasions on which you were able to escape Skyhold for a time and join us in the field. And I came to dread returning there. Why do you think I spent so much time in the field, taking reports in person from my agents? And, too, it was harder for people to attempt to kill me if they could not predict where I might be. But mostly, it was because I could think straight. And when you were able to escape for a while yourself... I liked the person you were. I dreaded returning because I did not want to return to being that person who goaded you into hurting me. And I did not want to see you return to being that person who enjoyed causing pain.”

He straightened and leaned back, flipping his hair back out of his eyes again with a sweep of his hands as he stared up at Leto, leaning back slightly to rest his weight on his hands just behind him. “And do not take Dorian’s anger too much to heart,” he added. “He is scared, and anger feels safer for him just now. He is angry for what you did to us both, but I think he is also very scared and refuses to show it, no? We are not in our own world, and he does not know what may happen when we return. We came with Fenris, because Anders’ life was in danger already and, too, Fenris was afraid that our lives would also be in danger if he left us behind. I nearly died because of a poisoned bar of soap. It was an Antivan poison which Josie recognised in time, or I should not be breathing now. And if I had died then Dorian would have likely died also. We know there is someone in our Skyhold who wishes me dead - which is not so unfamiliar to me, no? But they have not dared attack Dorian before, because everyone knew that to raise hand against him was to court their own death because of you. Dorian is now afraid that we will go back and there will be no-one to protect him. He still cares for you, Leto. But he is afraid. And scared men make foolish mistakes.” 

“Right, he cares for me still. I don’t believe it!” Leto snarled as he jumped up to pace. “I will do my duty by you, all of you and do all in my power to keep you three safe. But do not tell me he cares for me still. That is a lie you can stop peddling to me.” Leto could not hold still any longer, his annoyance and wish to be alone or at least have Anders with him was making him want to leave, fly or go back to the other room where Anders was. 

Zevran fell back and flinched, pushing himself swiftly away as the taller elf snarled and paced restlessly.

“It isn’t a lie, it’s the _truth!_ ” the Antivan protested. “I swear upon my very life, I do not lie! Not on this! Leto, believe me - let me struck dead this moment, this very instant if I breathe a word of a lie to you!”

“His actions put your words to shame Zevran. Stop trying to convince me Dorian still cares for me. He’s got you now. I’m going to lie down until they return...unless you wish to keep trying to convince me he has anything left in his heart for me. Stop flinching...I gave my word I shall not hurt you again.”

“And I tell you that I cannot help it; it is instinctive now,” replied Zevran, tersely, his eyes fixed on the floor by Leto’s feet instead of looking up. “Do you think I enjoy this, Leto? Do you think I humiliate myself like this merely to annoy you? Believe me, I like this even less than you do, eh?”

He sat up straighter again and pressed a hand to his forehead. “Damn me, I _will_ master this,” he growled to himself. He exhaled slowly. “You are determined to believe only what you believe. Fine. That other Anders has punished you, yes? But no, that is not good enough for Leto! No, you must punish yourself still further!” He glared up at him. “You wish to do this to yourself? You wish to be friendless? I shall not waste my breath further then. Do you then call me a liar for myself also? Do you think _my_ actions put the lie to my words, that I thought you a man I admired, liked, wished to spend time with when we were apart from Skyhold? Do you think I _wanted_ to return to that miserable place, and the misery of us both becoming something other that who we truly were?”

“No I don’t think you do that merely to annoy me Zevran. I am quite aware you can’t help it, and I hate myself for doing this to you.” The Tevinter elf’s voice had gone flat as he spoke. “I’m used to not having friends, and I have no idea if you’re lying to me or not. You’re a Crow Master, it’s a skill you’ve mastered like breathing. I cannot believe after the way Dorian now snaps at me and defends your every move, your every moment of doubt that he has any love for me, not anymore. If he ever cared for me at all.” Leto turned away, not wishing to let the Antivan see him break or the tears he couldn’t hold back. He sat, back to Zevran and cried silently, hating that he lost his composure once more.

“I, too, am used to having no friends, Leto,” said Zevran quietly. “That does not mean I enjoy it; it does not mean I have not longed for friends. For people who value me for _me_ instead of for what I can do for them. Who would be saddened if I died.”

Leto heard the Crow rise to his feet behind him. “And if you truly doubt that Dorian has ever loved you, then you are an even greater fool than I am. If you will not believe me, then ask Fenris what was Dorian’s reaction when he realised he had brought the wrong man back from the Fade. It was not the reaction of a man who did not care for you. He called Dorian ‘ _amatus_ ’ when they awoke, thinking he was you. When Fenris reacted in confusion, Dorian thought you had changed your mind and he was devastated. A man who did not care for you would not have cared if you had changed your mind. A man who did not care for you would not have wept tears that you had been left behind in the Fade.”

He took a step closer to Leto. “But why should you believe me?” he whispered. “After all, Zevran Arainai is a liar, a thief and a whore, is he not? Zevran Arainai breathes lies as easily as air, does he not? Zevran Arainai is untrustworthy, a fraud, not worth respecting or caring for; he is not a man that any man would trust, yes? So. Do not believe me then. But I tell you this, Leto: I have breathed no word of a lie to you.”

He smiled sadly at Leto’s back. “But of course, if I were lying, I suppose that I would also lie about that too, no?” 

Leto ignored him, and got to his feet so he could get away from the elf, and his words. It was too much for him; he didn’t know what to believe, all he knew was he was done in, hurting and if he had to cry again it damned well wouldn’t be in front of Zevran. 

The bedroom door was pushed open and Anders stood there, blinking sleepily as he rubbed his eyes. “Leto?” he murmured. “I woke up and I was alone... was worried there was no-one here....”

“You would not have been alone,” said Zevran in a low voice as he moved to the bed and threw himself down upon it on his back. “I am a prisoner here, after all. But you should not talk to me, Anders; I am a wicked Crow who lies as easily as he breathes, and no sane man would wish to speak to me, it seems.”

Anders blinked in confusion at the blond elf. “Zevran? What on earth are you on about?”

“Leto refuses to believe a word I say because Crows are liars. And because I am the Crow Master, apparently that must make me the biggest liar of all, no? Or perhaps it simply makes me the biggest fool for ever thinking Leto would believe a word I say.” The Antivan flung an arm up over his closed eyes. “And yet I have not spoken one word of lie since I set foot in this world at Adamant. But pay me no mind, as Leto chooses to do, even though I have put myself in harms way for him more times than I can recall, trusted _him_ to have my back every time we set foot out of Skyhold together, been comrades in arms... he does not believe me. Leto, you may not have wielded a whip against me in this room but still you have cut me.”

Leto growled low in his throat as he approached the bed. “Stop this. Stop it right now! Do I not get to doubt you? Oh, I’m sorry, Master Arainai, forgive me for doubting you. Anything else you wish to tell me that I’m apparently too stupid or dense to believe? What else? Going to tell me Varania or Pin don’t actually hate me either? Well, go on then, since nothing you’ve said is a lie, carry on, you have my full attention.” 

“Ah,” said Zevran softly. “I will say nothing of them. I am no god, to see into their hearts, Leto. Varania is, I think, playing a game worthy of a magister, and I was ever but one more pawn to her - useful in measure, as long as I did as she wished. But she has never confided in me. She worked with me to help overthrow Vengeance, but I do not believe it was for anything other than her own ends. She has her agents, and I had mine. They co-operated, but only because Varania wished it. As for Pin, she has always looked down upon me and despised me as much as she appears to do you. You shall have to ask them yourself when you return. And there, that is as much truth as I know, and no word of a lie breathed by me. Ask me what you will; I shall not lie.”

“Will you two stop that? Please?” asked Anders as he stared between them. “Leto, that was unworthy of you! And Zevran... don’t say such things of yourself. This... Maker, we shouldn’t be turning on each other like this!” He glanced to Leto. “What has he said that you don’t believe?”

“That Dorian still cares for me, though he calls this man _amatus_ as if it were nothing! He wants me to believe that he wishes to be my friend. Yet he still acts like I’m going to attack him at a moment’s notice. Hard to accept those as true right now. My heart hurts and I can’t even get away from this,” Leto said before he turned away again.

“He can’t help flinching, love,” said Anders gently. “He’s not doing it to hurt you. As for wanting to be your friend....” He glanced to the Antivan and swallowed. “He’s not lying. Vengeance taunted him about it. He thought it amusing to destroy Zevran’s self-esteem by reminding him he had no friends and making me watch at the same time. He would taunt him about being friendly with you whenever the three of you left Skyhold together. Told him you only pretended to be friendly towards him because he was a useful tool... that no sane person would befriend a snake, and that if he, Vengeance ordered it, you’d snap Zevran’s neck without a second thought. Told Zevran that when he was no longer of use to him, he might do just that. Or that maybe he would use blood magic on you next and Zevran would fuel the next rending of the Veil.” He looked back at Leto. “Vengeance deliberately isolated him as much as possible. It made it easier for him to manipulate him that way.”

Zevran drew a sharp, ragged breath. “Anders... be silent. Please. I would sooner be thought a liar than have had you breathe that truth to anyone... least of all Leto.”

“So you’d rather I not know such a thing? To know you were being held apart from us even when next to me?” Leto snarled as he looked at the other elf then his lover.

“Keep his secrets then, since he doesn’t want them told. But especially not to me Anders. I’ve got a headache from all this so I’m going to lie down, you two can do what you want. Wake me if you absolutely need me, otherwise I am done talking to anyone for a while,” Leto said quietly before edging around Anders to stretch out on the bed and ignore everything. 

He could hear Anders and Zevran talking, and cursed his elven hearing.

“Zevran... why didn’t you want Leto to know?”

“Perhaps I am ashamed, my friend.” Zevran’s tone was one of bitterness; there was an odd little hitch to his voice. “What good does it do? He is determined to think me a liar. I do not want him to think you one as well. He doesn’t trust me. Perhaps he never did.”

“That’s not true, Zev.” Anders sounded annoyed. “if Leto had a choice over a companion to take with him into the field, it was always you. If Leto didn’t care about you, why would he and Vengeance have had such a blazing row over you - not once, but several times? Do you think that farce of a trial was the only time Leto stepped in to protect you?”

“He was protecting his possession.” Zevran’s voice sounded dull and dispirited.

“Zev, you _ass_!” exclaimed Anders. “That is so not true and you bloody well know it!”

Leto got up and strode into the other room again and stared at Zevran, angry and hurt at his words. “If you believed I could treat you as a mere possession after what I lived in Minrathous; you’re a bigger fool than I could have ever thought. Believe me or not, I no longer give a damn; but I cared for you Arainai, I kept your fucking neck out of a noose more times than Vengeance threatened to put one around you. Think of me what you will, but I would never have let him kill you. Now keep it down or at least let a tired elf fucking sleep,” he said as he shut the door and hoped they just stopped talking. 

Zevran had sat up, startled, snatching his arm away as Leto had burst into the room to berate him; and as Leto closed the door he winced slightly. The Antivan’s face had been streaked with tears.

From the room beyond, Leto heard the main door suddenly slam open and loud voices; Zevran’s voice cried out, and then he heard Anders shouting frantically.

“No - no, you’ve got it wrong; he’s innocent - he’s _innocent!!_ Please, let him go!”

Leto surged to his feet in time to see several guards dragging Zevran out as the elf staggered, blood running down the side of his face, his hands in chains as another guard shoved Anders back roughly.

“If you’ve evidence, then present it at the trial four days hence, sirrah,” snapped the guard. 

Then he turned and followed his companions, slamming the door behind him and leaving Anders pushing himself back up onto his knees on the floor, staring at the door in horror as the guards dragged Zevran away to the dungeons to await trial for murder.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jailbreak. Anders teaches Fenris a lesson, and Zevran and Invictus talk.

He struggled as they dragged him away, but to no avail. 

There were six of them, and his hands were manacled behind his back; he wrenched at the manacles, scraping and bruising his wrists as he desperately tried to break free of them but it was no use. His arms were grasped by a man either side of him, someone else had hold of his forearms behind his back, and a hand grasped his hair, yanking hard on it painfully. 

But he made it hard for them; he bucked and threw himself hard against their grasp, he dragged his feet, he struggled.

All it earned him were fists and blows. By the time they thrust him to his knees, he was blinded in one eye by blood running down his face from a cut upon his brow, his nose was bleeding a steady stream over his lips and chin, his lip was split and by the sharp pain each time he gasped for breath he knew at least two ribs were cracked. There was a painful dull ache in the small of his back where someone had rabbit-punched him in the kidneys when he had stumbled and fallen, and his head ached from having his hair wrenched constantly the whole way down to the dungeons.

But still he raised his head defiantly to stare up at the lieutenant as she stood over him.

“You are under arrest for the brutal murders of a family found four miles from Skyhold,” she said coldly. “A man, his wife, and their four children.”

“Bloody dog!” growled one of the guards behind him, and he felt a boot connect with the bruises in the small of his back, sending him sprawling to the floor. He struggled back to his knees to glare at her.

“I am innocent!” he declared. “I did not kill them!”

“You’ve already confessed to it,” replied the lieutenant coldly.

“Ought to just string him up and have done with it,” muttered another guard.

“No,” the lieutenant replied. “There will be a trial. And _then_ you will hang, Crow.” She glanced to the guards. “Put him in solitary. The end cell.”

They dragged him away, still loudly proclaiming his innocence but to no avail; all it earned him was more kicks and blows. He was vaguely aware that they were taking him to a part of the dungeons he’d never been in before - they seemed to be dragging him down through a part of the undercroft. He was still intent on struggling, but they continued to rain blows down at him as they forced him on. He was barely conscious by the time they’d dragged him down to the solitary cells. They halted at the edge of a large grill set into the floor; one of the guards opened a metal hatch set in the middle. His struggles renewed wildly as he realised they meant to force him down into the dank darkness of an oublitte as they released his wrists, only to shackle his hands in front of him. Then he was thrust down into the cell, and the barred door slammed shut above him with an air of finality as he fell several feet straight down to slam hard into the floor.

He lay there for a few minutes, stunned. Slowly he became aware that the surface he lay on was not flagstones but the gritty stone floor of a cave. The air was damp and cold, and he could hear steadily trickling water from somewhere. He raised his head and spat blood, then looked around.

As his elven eyes adjusted to the dark, he realised he was imprisoned in a cave. Rock surrounded him on three sides, but the fourth gaped open into dark, empty air. 

He managed to force himself to his knees, then to stand. Slowly, he limped painfully towards the edge, and stared out.

He stood high up, on the lip of a precipice that plunged so far down below that he couldn’t make out the bottom. There was a faint shaft of light that shone down from somewhere and illuminated a small waterfall far across the void, spilling out from a hole in the rock to fall down into the darkness. He could see no exit from the pit, and looking up he could only see the rock ceiling of the hole, far above.

In his current state and with his hands manacled, he would have no chance of climbing his way to freedom; there was nowhere to go except down.

He limped back into the cell.

There was a ragged bedroll, discarded in the corner; when he dragged it out to shake it out and lay it down, bones tumbled out. A skull rolled out to land by his feet, and he stared at it. Evidently these were the remains of some previous unfortunate inhabitant of his cell. He couldn’t repress a shudder. There was no telling how long the bones had lain there for. The bedroll had been tossed on top of them and though ragged, it hadn’t rotted, which suggested the bones had lain there for many years before the bedroll had been left there.

There was nothing else in the cell; no bench for sitting or sleeping, not even a bucket to piss in. Presumably he was supposed to piss into the void from the lip of the cave.

He stared back at the skull, and shivered.

Laying a femur to one side, he gathered up the rest of the bones and carried them to the edge in his shackled arms before casting them out into the abyss. Then he returned to the bedroll and sat down crosslegged upon it.

“I am innocent,” he said softly into the darkness.

**

Zevran wasn’t sure how long he lay there in the darkness, but at some point he must have fallen asleep; he was awakened by voices calling his name. He opened his eyes and stared up through the grate, some eight feet above him. 

Dorian was crouched there, his hands clutching the bars; behind him Zevran could see Anders and Leto - but also Fenris, all frowning and looking worried.

“ _Amatus_!” called Dorian quietly. “Zevran!”

“Dorian,” said Zevran as he rose from the bedroll to stare at them.

“Dumat - what have the brutes done to you?” exclaimed the mage as he stared down at the Antivan.

Zevran raised his hands to his face and touched the dried blood. “This? It is nothing, _carissimi_ ,” he replied with a shrug. “They were a little rough with me, eh?”

“They say you killed a family of six,” said Anders as he came forward to crouch next to Dorian.

“I am innocent,” said Zevran, frowning. Dorian nodded.

“We know, _amatus_ ,” he answered. “It must have been Venatori.”

“Perhaps,” shrugged Zevran. “But what does it matter? They have my confession. In four days I will hang.”

“No, we’ll go to the sergeant and show that there are two Zevrans, two Anders, and two Dorians, along with me and Leto, and there is no way you could have done it,” Fenris said as he stared at the elf, wondering what they could do.

“I told him that and he didn’t listen, and that was before the guards showed up,” Leto added.

“They have arrested me, and they believe they have the evidence they need to hang me,” shrugged Zevran. “They are insisting upon a trial. But believe me... if you can have me freed? I will be very grateful.” He glanced down and picked up the femur. “I should hate to become like this fellow, no?”

“Maker’s breath,” said Anders as he stared at the bone. “Zev. We’ll get you out. Trust in us.”

Zevran looked up at them and gave them all a troubled smile. “I trust you with my life,” he said wrily.

“ _Amatus_ \- if necessary I shall damned well raise the bodies of the dead family and have _them_ testify upon your behalf!” said Dorian fiercely.

Fenris and Leto gave him horrified looks at the magister’s suggestion. “That’s absolutely ghoulish!” Fenris exclaimed while Leto just stared at him in disgust.

“That’s as may be, but if they will not listen to us then we may be glad of it as a last resort,” declared Dorian.

Anders shuddered. “Sweet Andraste’s flaming arse, I really hope it doesn’t come to that,” he replied.

Zevran stared up at them. “I do not care by what means you have me released,” he said. “But if I were given to prayer then I would be begging the Maker Himself that you have me freed before then. I do not know if they intend to give me food or water whilst I am down here, but this cell does not look like the kind of place where care of a prisoner comes high on their list of priorities, yes?” He glanced around and shivered, uncharacteristically.

“Zevran?” asked Anders softly.

“I am afraid,” said the Antivan bleakly. “This is a place for forgetting people. And four days in the dark....”

Anders clutched at the bars. “Zevran,” he said earnestly. “I won’t let them leave you alone in the dark. I swear it. I’ll come down every day.”

“Are you sure about that, Anders? You did not like the dark yourself, remember?” Leto asked quietly. 

“I know,” said Anders, his voice hushed. “But I spent a year in solitary in the dark. And I won’t let him rot down there alone. I will sit here every day until they release him if need be.” He lifted a hand and called up a wisp of light that drifted down into the cell to hover just above Zevran’s head. In its light they could see more clearly the injuries the Antivan had sustained - his bruised ribs, the split lip, the bruise upon his cheek, dried blood down his face and around his wrists, the skin there grazed and broken.

“ _Amatus!_ ” Dorian cried out, anguished.

“Anders, can you heal him? This isn’t the same as those cells I think and your magic should work here,” Fenris asked as Leto watched Dorian quietly, wisely keeping the unkind thoughts that sprang to mind to himself. 

Anders threw himself down and stretched an arm through the bars, hand stretching towards the elf as he closed his eyes and called upon his magic and let it flow.

Zevran stared up at them, a hopeless, bleak look in his eyes as he stood there, looking small and vulnerable in the darkness.

“Go to him, Leto,” Fenris said quietly as he watched Anders and Zevran. 

“You really need to be quiet on this subject, friend,” Leto whispered as he watched the two men and noted how distraught Dorian was.

“No, because you don’t get to pretend you don’t care or that you didn’t do this with your actions. Go to that man, in case he does die in four days, the same man that wept brokenly over you, despite knowing I was not the man he wanted. He’s terrified and we both know that pain, Leto; stop before you do something you will regret,” Fenris replied tersely. 

“I think you need to go, Fenris,” Leto sniped as he watched them, unable to make himself move.

“You’ll regret this later, trust me,” was all the white haired elf said before falling quiet.

Zevran’s injuries were steadily healing as they watched, but the hopeless look never left his eyes as he gazed at Leto. Anders lay still, eyes closed, his arm still stretched towards the elf as he continued to heal each wound he found. Dorian’s eyes flicked between the motionless mage and the elf below them. 

“Can we get food to him? Water?” murmured Dorian.

“Could cast ice,” Anders managed, most of his concentration on what he was doing.

Fenris stepped forward and looked around for something he could use to put ice in. “Well there’s no where to put a chunk of ice for him. I’ll see if they will at least bring food and a cup.” The elf rose and made his way past them to ask the guards.

Leto watched him go, then turned to observe the others, keeping quiet as Anders worked.

Zevran was still staring at Leto. “Get me out of here,” he whispered. “Please. I do not wish to die.”

“I’ll try again, but they seem set on your demise. I will see what can do,” Leto replied as he returned the elf’s stare. Zevran’s eyes pleaded with him as he gazed up.

The cuts upon his face had healed, but the blood still stood out starkly upon his skin and streaking his hair. “I will do anything to get out of here,” the Antivan vowed. “If I stay... I will die.”

“No - no, I shan’t let that happen,” said Dorian, anguish in his voice. “There - there has to be a way we can get you out!”

Zevran bowed his head and stared down at his shackled wrists. 

“There is,” Fenris said as he returned to them. “I can return later, teleport him out and then take him somewhere quiet and safe until the portal issue is solved and you lot can get … can go home. He lives, and you all can resume whatever you do.” 

Zevran nodded slowly. “Tell them I jumped,” he said quietly. “Tell them I could not face the hanging and I jumped to my death. This cell is but a cave, and behind me it opens up into a pit - it is so deep that I cannot see the bottom. I think they place people here that they wish to see end themselves, and save themselves a hanging.”

“I cannot bear the thought of you doing that,” said Dorian softly. “Very well. Fenris will save you, and I... I shall be appropriately grief-stuck.”

“I’m sure I can manage a few screams too,” shrugged Anders as he lifted himself up then rubbed his arm. “Maker’s balls - my arm’s gone to sleep,” he added. “Still, at least Zev’s healed now.”

“Good, I’ll gather up a pack of supplies and clothes from my Zevran. Whenever the portal can be opened to send you back, I’ll tell the others it has to be done at Adamant, and take you all there and you go home. I’ll return later tonight; remember to act surprised when the guards come to tell you of his demise. For Dumat’s sake, show some grief, Leto.” Fenris left them to chat and to ready himself for their plan.

“I’m staying here,” said Anders. “I’ve promised I won’t leave him, and I mean it. You can all leave. When Fenris gets him out, I’ll scream and make a fuss so the guards believe he jumped.”

“Anders? Are you sure?” asked Dorian. The blond mage grinned at him.

“Remember how I made everyone at Skyhold believe I was certain I was going to my death? Used my healing magic to tweak my adrenaline levels to appear terrified? I’ll just do that again. They’ll believe he jumped, because there’ll be a witness.”

Zevran finally managed a twisted smile. “So I become a dead man in truth, to them? Let it be so. But I shall hope for the portal to be opened soon.” His eyes went to Leto for a moment, his gaze still troubled, before he glanced at Dorian. “Maybe we shall not be separated for too long, eh?”

Leto looked away after the elf’s gaze slipped from him. He was having a hard time not feeling a sharp pang of anger and jealousy beyond his fear for the Antivan. If he was truly sent to his death, he would grieve and hurt but he couldn’t show it in the moment.

“You had best all leave me,” said Zevran softly. “The guards will not let you stay long... and I do not want you to see me break down here.” He glanced to Anders. “Call back your little light, my friend.”

“Zev -” began Anders, but the Antivan was already turning to sit upon his bedroll, head bowed as he stared at his manacled wrists.

“Leave the light, he need not be in the dark until later,” Leto said quietly. 

Anders nodded as he stared down at the elf below them. “I’ll keep the light shining until he’s gone.”

Dorian rose to his feet reluctantly. “Be safe, _amatus_ ,” he murmured.

If Zevran heard him, he gave no sign, head bowed and turned away from the light.

**

A horrified scream rang out in the dimly-lit confines of the undercroft.

“Zevran! No! _No!!_ ”

The guards threw themselves down the stairs and rounded the corner to see the blond man flung down by the grate of the oubliette, one arm reaching through as he screamed and wept denial. 

As they rushed forward to drag him back, Anders turned a white, tear-streaked face towards them. “He jumped! Oh, blessed Andraste, he jumped!”

One of the guards muttered a brief snatch of the chant as the others stared down into the empty cell.

“Ah well,” said one of the guards. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“Saves us a hanging,” muttered one of the others.

**

Zevran clutched at Fenris as they lurched out of the Fade, the Antivan blinking dazedly at the light. “Where... where are we?” he asked, glancing around.

“About a days’ march from Crestwood,” Fenris replied as he took hold of the manacles around Zevran’s wrists; he phased them into the Fade, releasing the Antivan, then threw the manacles aside as he turned and walked towards the faded doorway of a long, low cabin that would be impossible to see from the road, and was almost missable unless you were very close to it. “This is an old Warden waystation.”

Zevran glanced around as he rubbed absently at his chafed wrists. “And there is a well, too. This place reminds me of certain Warden safe houses that I have stayed in when I travelled with my Warden.” He stared over towards the distant lake. “This place feels... almost familiar to me,” he added slowly.

“There is no fear of discovery. After the fight with Corypheus, all the Wardens either went to ground or Weisshaupt. Hopefully you won’t be here long. If you wish, I will bring the others to you tomorrow so they can see you are not actually dead. But they can’t stay too long, else it will raise suspicion.” Fenris led the other elf into one of the dormer bedrooms and dropped the heavy pack on one of the beds. 

“There’s food, a couple changes of clothes from my Zevran, soap so you can have a proper wash, and some camp rations, also a couple of blades for you. I should get back before I raise suspicion by being gone when we’re informed. Hopefully you can go soon.”

Zevran turned to Fenris and grasped his hand. “My friend, I owe you my life,” he said sincerely. “Ask anything of me that it is my power to grant and I shall do it.”

“There’s nothing I want from you, or any of you besides leaving. Get some rest and I’ll return with them tomorrow,” Fenris replied quietly, staring into the other elf’s eyes, uneasy but relieved he was not going to hang for something he’d not done.

“Fenris... I know that I have been an unending source of trouble for you since Dorian dragged you into the wrong Thedas,” said Zevran quietly, his expression serious. “For that, I am sorry. You have done far more for me than you can ever guess, and now because of you I am still living. I will not forget this.” He stared up into Fenris’ eyes. “You opened my eyes, and thanks to you and your Anders I am free of the sick compulsion that was laid on me.”

He bowed, lowering his head. “I thank you. For my life, my health, and my sanity.”

“No need to bow, just get back to your world, is all the thanks you can give me,” Fenris said uneasily. 

Zevran shrugged as he straightened. “As you wish.” He glanced around the safe house. “I shall hide here alone, and wait for the others. Perhaps....” His expression grew troubled. “Perhaps my absence will cause Leto to look upon me more kindly when he finally comes,” he said, quietly. “I am not certain... but the look in his eyes... perhaps he wishes I _had_ jumped.”

“He’s hurting too, Zevran.” Fenris held up his hand to get the elf to listen. “If anyone will understand this about him, I will. He feels shoved aside by the one person he had decided to open up to. His Hawke died and yet he grieves, but he was looking beyond that grief for the first time with Dorian. To find that he had been replaced so easily, in his eyes, probably is hurting him far more than you or Dorian can understand. Yes, he hurt both of you, abused you and none of you were in your right minds in your world; I damn sure wasn’t while there. But for him to finally take a chance on letting someone in and then seeing you two together has to really, really hurt - and if he’s anything like I used to be? He doesn’t have the words or the ability to talk about it in a way that won’t cause more hurt before you three, four if Anders is involved where you can either be happy together or he needs to split off and be alone again. That will kill him, if not literally then emotionally. I left my Hawke for three years and it damn near ended me, but I had Invictus to go back to, to try again. He will never have that again with Endrin; he thought maybe he could have something with Dorian and now? He thinks you all hate him, and won’t hear anything else because he’s a stubborn fool who’s letting his hurt talk for him. It will be like that for a while, and you might not want to hear it, but maybe he can’t let go of it and you all will have to split off.” 

“I do not hate him,” said Zevran quietly. “I tried to tell him. I have no hate in my heart - he has been punished enough. I... I tried to tell, to explain to him... but he called me a liar. He thinks that nothing I say is the truth. I had hoped that we might at least be friends - I know he never loved me. But... Fenris. Believe me, I never meant to hurt him, no matter what he did to me.”

“Me believing you means nothing at the end of the day; I do, but that doesn’t change what has happened.” Fenris stared at the slighter elf, unsure what else to say. “You may have to accept that for now, his hurt is too deep and he won’t listen. I know I’ve fucked things up with my own Zevran - hell, even with Anders and Vic; and pushing him to talk will always be a bad idea. It never worked on me, and just made things so much worse. Just get through this, get home and take it a moment at a time. I don’t think he wished you jumped; but I do think he regrets being so sharp with you. But it may take some doing to get that out of him.” 

Zevran sank down onto the bed and sat there, his head bowed for a moment before he nodded. 

“Fenris... for what it may be worth... I do not know that he will hear you, but - please tell Leto I am sorry. I never meant for this to happen. When you brought Dorian and I together, I could not have dreamed that your world would have changed him so much.” He sighed. “Had I known... I would not have gone near Dorian. I still feel for Leto, even here, so far away from the damned, cursed influence of our own Skyhold. I am still that man who wept because Leto had finally called another _amatus_ \- who knew he would never say that word to me. And in spite of what he did to me... still, I hurt for him.” He lifted his head to stare up at Fenris. “Please do that for me?”

“Perhaps. I honestly would never speak to Leto again if I can manage it. I still want to punch him in the mouth for all he did to you and Dorian; but if I can scrape up some care for him, I’ll do as you’ve asked,” Fenris said quietly. 

“I am also sorry for how I have behaved towards you,” said Zevran as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I... I was not in my right mind, and you should not have seen that side of me. It is hard to shake off old habits. I did not want to be like that but... I could not stop myself. I did not mean to hurt your Anders. When I laid eyes on him, I... a madness took me, I heard voices... I thought he was Vengeance, and I only thought to put an end to a nightmare. I did not know I was not dreaming.”

“I don’t care, Zevran, I just want you all gone so we can try to get back to something like normal. The blood magic is broken, and I hope you recover. I also hope I never, ever wind up in your world again. Now rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Fenris gave him a respectful nod before stepping back so he could get back to the others.

Zevran lifted his head to watch as Fenris’ form lit up in a blaze of light then was gone. Alone, he looked around the room, then he sighed. He allowed himself a moment to simply sit and ponder what had happened to him; and then he rose. Taking up the bar of soap, he went to wash, change, and prepare himself for the others’ arrival.

**

Fenris returned to their suite to find both Anderses and both Dorians there, to his dismay. He’d wanted to just spend time with his husbands now that things seemed to be on the mend. Instead he found their doubles, but no sign of Leto. That didn’t surprise him; if he’d been on the receiving end of what his Anders had done he’d never come around them again either.

Leto’s Anders was slumped in a chair, looking dreadful; he was pale, his hands trembling in the comedown from adrenaline, his eyes reddened still. Their Dorian stood beside him, his kohl smeared and his breathing a little ragged after putting on a performance of grief at the supposed suicide of his _amatus_.

Fenris’ own Zevran was sitting in his usual place in the window, watching them all silently as his Anders and Dorian talked quietly, Invictus nodding occasionally as he listened. 

Zevran glanced up at Fenris’ arrival, and he straightened as he turned to face him. “He is safe, then?” he asked.

“Yes, he’s in that safe house we found near Crestwood. I told him I’d bring the others tomorrow. If no one sees them for a while, it will be assumed they are grieving and wish to be alone,” Fenris replied quietly. 

Leto’s Dorian glanced up at that. “Given the performance Anders put on, I do not think anyone will doubt we are grief-stricken,” he remarked. “ _Venhedis_ \- I _knew_ of this plot, and even so I found it hard to believe that Zevran did not leap.”

“You don’t want to see what Leto’s mood is like right now,” Anders added, still shaken. “Knickerweasels - I had no idea he was going to react like that. It... we thought it best to come here and leave him to it.”

“What is his mood exactly? Do I need to have a word with him?” Fenris asked quietly. 

“Love, don’t...let him work this out on his own,” Vic suggested.

“Oh no, not after what I went through in his world. He does not get off that easy,” Fenris replied.

“He’s... I think this whole thing has stirred up conflicting feelings,” said their Anders slowly. “We’d all had this deeply unpleasant argument just before the guards burst in to arrest Zevran. I think perhaps Leto was regretting some of the things he’d said to Zev - and then seeing him down in that hole... well, I think me bursting in followed by the guards, hysterically crying that Zevran had leapt to his death - it... did a number on him, I suspect,” sighed Anders. “You can see the state of Dorian here.”

“You were far too believable, my friend,” nodded the magister as he patted Anders on the shoulder.

“Paying for it now,” muttered Anders.

“Bathroom and privy are that way,” remarked Fenris’ Anders, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door; with a nod of thanks, the other blond mage lurched up from his chair and headed towards the privy, looking decidedly pale and ill.

“The aftermath of adrenaline is such an unpleasant thing, no?” remarked Zevran quietly.

“So what kind of a mood is he in then? Is he not upset or is he just sitting there like a rock?” Fenris asked again. 

“The latter,” said Dorian sombrely. “He’s just sitting there, staring at the floor... merely told us to get out. Anders felt it best to let him be for the moment.”

Fenris pondered them as he debated on going to speak with his mirror self or not. “I just told Zevran I’d rather not speak to Leto again but this concerns me. Zevran wanted me to pass his apology on as well. I’m worried that if he lashes out and decides to fight me, I may not hold back - but he has better control of his magic than I do.” 

“Love, you can probably beat him in a fight,” Vic chimed in.

“Not necessarily, I haven't been fighting or training as he has since the Inquisition disbanded. He may well have an upper hand on me,” Fenris noted.

“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Anders. “I’m fully rested; if he does attack you, I have enough mana to counteract his magic.”

“No; I think seeing you will freak him out after what you did to him,” Fenris replied.

Anders sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “Point taken. Do you think it likely he _would_ lash out?”

“I would offer to come myself,” said Meneris’ Dorian, “but I think that would simply complicate matters further.”

“I will come, if you wish it,” said Zevran quietly.

“Considering how he is do you think it’s a good idea?” Fenris asked his husband. “He already had a fight with his Zevran, and - well, I don’t think it's a good idea.” He glanced to both Dorians and gave them a sad smile. “I really don’t think either of you should come, if he’s feeling thrown over for Zevran.”

“He has never lashed out at me,” shrugged Zevran. “Indeed, he was quite protective of me around Aeolus. But perhaps you are right.”

The other Anders emerged from the privy, still looking pale but not quite so dreadful. “Who’s right about what?” he asked, looking around a little confused.

“I’m going to see Leto, though ...I honestly don’t want to talk to him but brooding alone while you are here isn’t healthy either.” He glanced at Invictus and raised a warning finger. “No, not a word unless you want another fight, my love.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Anders replied. “After all, we _are_ lovers... and I feel bad about leaving him, even if it’s what he wanted.”

“When did that happen?” Fenris asked in surprise. 

“I don’t think we should pry, love,” Vic responded though he got a glare for his trouble. 

Anders shrugged. “We had a long talk, took a nap, he woke up screaming from a nightmare and we talked some more. We’ve known each other since Kirkwall and he’s the only reason I’ve retained any of my sanity, frankly. We... discovered there was more between us than we’d thought.”

Their Dorian was staring at him, his expression somewhere between hurt and angry, but he said nothing. His eyes flicked to Fenris for a moment and he stared at him coldly before looking away.

Oblivious, Anders was shrugging. “The more we talked... well. It... was probably a long time coming. Like ten years of it. I thought he was all wrapped up in grief over Endrin, and then - well, Vengeance happened. And now I’m missing an awful lot of memories... but he was there often in those moments I was aware, and... well.” He smiled, a little nervously. “And no, before you ask, he wasn’t taking advantage of me, any more than -” He broke off. “Well. I have my own mind, and I can decide for myself, y’know?” He glanced back at Dorian, who looked discomfited and glanced away.

“Any more than your Dorian thought I took advantage of you? No, I doubt he was, because you wouldn’t allow that, after all,” Fenris said with a sly grin at the other Dorian. “I’m glad for you both; I hope you can be happy together,” he added before approaching his Dorian and tipping his chin up to look at that scab he’d noticed before. 

“You should get Anders, one of them to work on this before it scars permanently. I’d offer but I’m not really good at healing, right love?” he headed for the door, hopeful their Anders would follow him. 

To his relief, that Anders did follow, as his own Anders turned and beckoned to Dorian, his eye on the scar with a frown.

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” Anders shrugged as they headed back towards Leto’s room. “In fact, I rather enjoyed it. Both riding you, and then kneeling under your desk with your cock down my throat. I’ve been missing cock; Vengeance had no interest in sex and rarely let me out long enough to even think about it. Not even a quick wank.”

“Glad I could be of service then, I just wish Dorian would stop acting like I raped you,” Fenris replied bitterly.

“You didn’t. You know that, I know that. What happened was between you and I, so it’s really none of Dorian’s business,” shrugged Anders. “If I didn’t know better I’d think he was jealous.” He darted a sidelong glance at Fenris. “I haven’t talked about it around him though... and I’m sure he’d go nuts if he knew that frankly, I’m almost disappointed you took us back when you did because I was rather hoping you’d do it again.” He smirked.

“If it wouldn’t cause the end of my marriage, I’d happily do so,” Fenris replied softly before stopping and looking at the other man. “Thank you again for what you did for me there, I was losing myself.” 

Anders shrugged and smiled. “I’d already lost myself, in a way. I’m only glad I was able to bring you a little of the comfort you’d already brought me. You... saved my life - and you seemed to care when no-one else did. You saved me from those templars. It was the least I could do.”

“Hopefully Dorian can get over it for your sake, and for Leto’s sake if they can get past things. It seems Leto has been deeply hurt, and Dorian isn’t ...well I don’t know what he’s doing, but you all need each other more than he needs to be angry and overprotective of Zevran. Mythal protect both of us from his temper, I know mine can be too much,” Fenris said as they approached the door. 

“Oh, I know Leto can get angry,” shrugged Anders. “But I know he would never hurt me. If he _does_ get violent, I’ll step in the way.”

“Never be sure he won’t hurt you; look at how he acted in the dungeon. I don’t trust that he won’t lash out now,” Fenris said as he nodded at the door. “After you.”

Anders pushed open the door and glanced around. “Love? Are you...”

His voice trailed off as he stared at the elf sitting by the window. “... Leto?”

“I said get out,” the elf drawled as he ignored them. 

Anders moved forward, one hand reaching out towards Leto but then stopping short. “Love... please don’t shut me out,” he said gently.

“I don’t want your pity, Anders, or his. Did you come to gloat, Fenris? See what a shambles my life is now?” the elf growled.

“No, I’m not that gauche,” Fenris replied with a surprised look to Anders. “He cares for you and didn’t want you to be alone. I know what it’s like to wallow in your own self hate; believe me, do I know it. This isn’t helping, and you know it too.” 

“I don’t pity you, love,” said Anders. “I’m just worried for you.” He glanced to Fenris, concern in his eyes, before he looked back at Leto. “Zevran will be alright - he’s safe, love.”

“Good for him, its not like he gives a damn about anyone but Dorian,” Leto snapped.

“Stop this, he _does_ care for you… you ungrateful asshole!” Fenris snarled in response. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s sorry and didn’t mean to hurt you. The look on his face wasn’t a lie, and while he’s a good actor, even Zevran couldn’t fake looking that damned miserable. You have a chance to start over, and have a good life. Anders loves you, and I think Dorian still does though he’s not doing a good job of showing it right now. Stop this bullshit and go with the men who care about you.” 

“Dorian is just feeling mixed up, unsettled - and, I think, frightened,” said Anders quietly. “We’re none of us at our best right now. Just... give it time, love. Dorian will come around eventually; just give him time. He does care. He’s just finding it hard to show that.”

“I doubt it and I really am tired of hearing about how he cares. Just… why are you even here?” Leto said tiredly. “Can’t any of you just leave me alone?” 

“Because they care about you, asshole, that’s why. Is it so hard to believe that people actually want you around or to be happy?” Fenris asked, his patience at an end with this mirror version of himself. “It’s a wonder they haven’t all left me yet if this is how I acted.” 

Leto turned and snarled at the other elf. “Yes, it is. It’s incredibly hard to believe that. Why don’t you go, both of you! I want to be alone, why can’t anyone just let me be?” he said brokenly.

Anders blinked at Leto, a little stunned. “Love?” he murmured quietly. “You can’t mean that. I love you. Of _course_ I care for you.” He took a step closer to Leto. “Love, why would I lie to you about this? About _any_ of this?”

“You’re the only one who loves me then,” Leto replied quietly. “Why do you even care? When ...why…?” he asked before falling quiet and bowing his head.

“I don’t know why anyone loves you but damn, Leto, take his hand; see that Anders is here because he cares for you despite your efforts to push him away. Stop sitting here and wallowing,” Fenris replied tersely.

“I’m not going anywhere near your Anders and Dorian is mad at me. Anders… if you want to stay, then feel free,” Leto finally gave in.

Anders gazed at him sadly. “Love... what’s wrong? Why are you like this? Ever since I came back from the dungeons and put that performance on you’ve... you withdrew away from us. Why?”

“It’s … not you, it’s me,” Leto replied quietly. “I said you could stay, I just needed some time alone is all.” 

“Which means you want to run off, or hide, and it helps nothing,” Fenris added.

“I’m not you - don’t you dare try and tell me why I wanted to be alone!” Leto hissed.

“Don’t bare your fangs at me unless you mean to use them,” Fenris tilted his head and smiled at his double, unfazed by his anger.

Anders stared at Leto’s fangs and went still. “Leto,” he said very softly. “Please don’t be angry.”

“Why not? Why can’t I feel angry? I’m not upset with you, Anders,” Leto said as he glared at Fenris, hating that smug look on his face. “You can stay, this ...elf can go any time now.”

“That mirror is kind of dirty eh?” Fenris remarked as he stared at his double. “Be kind to Anders, to Dorian and Zevran when you’re reunited. Learn to be kind to yourself before you push them all away and wind up alone; I damn near did,” he added idly before heading for the door. “I think you’ll be fine once I leave, just be ready tomorrow after lunch so I can take you to him.”

“Leto, don’t let yourself get riled up by him,” warned Anders as he moved to sit on the end of the nearby bed.

“Easy for you to say,” Leto remarked as he watched his double leave.

Anders glanced back at Fenris’ retreating back and waited for the door to close, then leaned back a little on his hands on the bed as he turned back to Leto. “So....” he raised an eyebrow. “You seem a bit conflicted over Zevran, love. Is there anything I can do? Talk to Zevran for you tomorrow, just... be here for you? I hate seeing you this miserable, love.”

“I can’t find it in me to believe he’s sorry or cares for me. Yet, I felt terrible when we went to see him in that cell. I’m finding it hard to believe he isn’t enjoying seeing me so miserable, or that Dorian still gives a damn for me. I keep circling back to if that had been me in that cell, they’d have left me to rot and you’d be the only one that cares,” Leto admitted. 

Anders sat up and leaned forward. “After you all left, Zevran just... sat there for the longest time,” he said quietly. “And then he... he wept, very quietly. He... I’m not sure if perhaps he was talking to himself; I think maybe he’d forgotten I was there. But... it sounded as if he was talking about you. Saying how he wished he could say sorry. Asking himself over and over why he didn’t wait.” Anders looked down at his hands as he twisted his fingers together. “I felt like I was... eavesdropping, really. But... Leto, I think he’s asking himself if he made a terrible mistake. He was very upset... but in a quiet way, as if he was afraid to be overheard. It....” Anders broke off and swallowed hard. “It reminded of me when I was in solitary. I’d... talk to myself sometimes. But I was afraid of the templars overhearing.” 

He looked up at Leto. “Love, when we all go to him tomorrow - please, just talk to him? I think he really regrets what’s happened... he’s sorry for hurting you.”

“I can’t. I can’t yet, I’m sorry,” Leto said softly, sure Anders was disappointed in him.

Anders reached a hand out to rest it on Leto’s knee gently. “Alright, love. I’ll talk to him, explain you need space, alright? He doesn’t want you to hurt anymore. I’m sure he’ll respect that. He has his own healing to do, after all.” He smiled sadly. “What do you need, love? Do you want to just lie down and cuddle for a bit? We don’t have to talk.”

“Please, I’m sorry. Don’t be upset with me, please,” Leto asked softly.

“Oh love,” said Anders softly. “I’m not - really, I’m not. I know this is all very hard on you right now. I still can’t fathom how what the other me did is even possible without resorting to blood magic. To inflict that on you - Maker.” He shuddered. “And I know that you love Dorian. I know how much it must hurt, hearing him call Zevran _amatus_. You need space from all that. And I’m sure my performance earlier can’t have helped. I... I know from Dorian’s reaction it was pretty traumatising. Maker, it _felt_ traumatising to _me_ , I hate to think what that must have done to you two. I am so sorry for that.”

“You’re the only one who’s sorry,” Leto whispered as he went to Anders and wrapped himself around the blond, crying quietly as he was held. Anders held him close, stroking a hand through Leto’s hair and pressing gentle kisses to his head.

“I love you, Leto,” he murmured. “I’m here and I won’t leave you.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I’m not a better man, I’m sorry Anders,” Leto whispered as he clung to Anders in the dim room.

“But you’re trying to be one, love,” replied Anders. “And it’s you I’ve fallen in love with - fell in love with a long time ago, in fact,” he smiled. “Not some mythical ‘better man’ - _you_. Flaws and all.”

Leto choked up at that and cuddled closer to Anders, glad for him and relieved he wasn’t alone any more. 

Anders lay back on the bed, drawing Leto down with him, kissing him gently as he held him close.

“We’ll get through this, love. Things will get better. We just have to keep going, keep trying.”

“I’m glad you believe that love, right now it seems pretty dark. Just...let’s lie here for awhile?” Leto asked quietly.

“Whatever you need, love,” Anders nodded.

**

Zevran put his feet up, one braced against the window frame and glanced down to the courtyard. He watched as the other Dorian made his way towards the College. Their own Dorian had excused himself shortly after Fenris and the other Anders had headed off to speak to Leto; he had claimed to feel tired after Anders had finally gotten him to stand still long enough to heal up the scar. Fenris had returned shortly after Dorian’s departure - now scarless - and seemed disappointed to find the magister gone.

The Antivan watched the other elf as he went to greet Invictus; he seemed a little sheepish, which made Zevran wonder just what had transpired between him and Leto.

“What’s up love, you seem… shy,” Vic asked as he was hugged closed and kissed on the cheek. 

“I am so sorry for anything I’ve done or said to you all. Dumat, that was hard seeing Leto act as I have towards you all. I’m even more grateful none of you have left me behind but I wouldn’t find fault after dealing with him. I’d almost feel sorry for that Dorian if he wasn’t trying to glare a hole in my head until I left.” 

Zevran arched an eyebrow at that but said nothing. He glanced back down into the courtyard, watching said Dorian climbing the steps up to the main doors of the College then disappear inside.

“I hope Leto isn’t giving my mirror self a hard time,” sighed Anders.

“No, he was rather...sad and self-defeated before I had enough of him and left,” Fenris said before he looked to Zevran. “Oh just say it, I can hear the told you so from here,” he quipped with no heat and a mischievous smirk.

“Far be it for me to point out such a thing,” shrugged Zevran with a small, slightly uncertain smirk of his own. “A man does not need to have someone else point out something when they finally see it for themselves, no? So... mirrors can be such... _illuminating_ things, would you not agree, Fenris?”

“Yes… ser,” Fenris replied quietly before resuming his snuggling up to Invictus.

Zevran blinked at being addressed like that; he glanced away with a faint frown. At the word ‘ser’ he could see Anders sitting up straighter in his chair and staring at Fenris, his expression almost a mirror of the Antivan’s.

Zevran pulled out one of his smaller stilettos and frowned at his nails as he began to clean them with the tip of the blade. “Feeling playful then, Fenris?” he inquired, his tone carefully diffident. He ignored the look he could feel Anders now directing in _his_ direction.

“I...yes?” Fenris replied, unsure at the other elf’s tone. “Did I...did I make a mistake?” he asked quietly. 

Zevran held still for a moment, then gave a small shake of his head. “No, I... it was simply unexpected,” he finally replied. 

“Forgive me, if you aren’t in the mood for that I’ll stop,” Fenris replied in a small voice, worried he’d messed up after their painful talk a couple of nights previously.

Zevran glance to the floor for a moment then tucked the blade away and straightened up, swinging his feet down to the floor. He glanced up at Fenris. “This seems such a trite excuse, but... it is not you who is at fault, Fenris; perhaps it is I. I was not expecting it, but....” He managed a faint half smile, dropping his gaze for a moment. “That does not mean you made a mistake.”

“Only if it’s ok with all of you, I’d ...I’d like to play. I have missed that, allowing you all to do as you wish and not for penance or punishment; but because I trust all of you,” Fenris said slowly, unsure if they would even go to bed with him, let alone for that.

Zevran glanced to Invictus, then to Anders for their reactions; he felt conflicted in himself. Whilst part of him wanted to embrace a return to what had once been normality for them all, he was having trouble shaking a certain feeling of being a little out of sorts still. The fighting between them all and then unburdening his past - first to Invictus, and then to Fenris in front of Anders, had left him feeling rather raw and vulnerable yet, and Fenris’ unexpected proposition had that part of him wanting to back away hastily.

He said none of this however, as he glanced back to Fenris. “It is... good that you trust us,” he remarked quietly. 

“But you don’t want to, I can tell by the look on your face. I’m sorry,” Fenris said as he pulled away from Invictus and headed for the drinks cabinet so they wouldn’t see the slight disappointment he had.

Anders cast Zevran another searching look as the Antivan lowered his head; then the blond mage rose to his feet and made his way to the drinks cabinet to stand next to Fenris. “I could use a drink myself,” he remarked before dropping his voice to a murmur for Fenris’ ears alone. “Don’t take it to heart, love. Zevran hasn’t lain with _any_ of us since that night that you two shared the bed and Vic and I slept by the fire and, uh... failed to sleep together. I’m not sure what’s going through his head right now, which bothers me - but I don’t think he’s quite back to himself yet.”

“Kind of hard not to, but I’ll be a good husband and just deal with it,” Fenris replied quietly before he went to sit by the fire and think.

Invictus glanced at Zevran before getting himself a drink but he let Fenris be for a change, unsure if the elf wanted company after not being able to have fun like they used to. Anders was pouring himself a glass of wine, and a measure of brandy for Zevran. He smiled briefly at Invictus and pressed a kiss to his cheek before making his way back to Zevran to offer him the brandy.

The Antivan stared at the glass for a moment before accepting it, glancing up to Anders with a nod. The blond mage returned to his chair with his glass of wine.

Vic wanted to go to his first love, but the thought of Zevran’s remarks about him always siding with Fenris to a fault, as well as the dejected way Fenris sat there, warned him to leave the elf be for a while. He glanced to the other men, unsure what to do.

Zevran caught his glance, and nodded towards Fenris. He took a mouthful of his brandy and schooled his expression to neutrality as he had his tone earlier. He was picking up on Fenris’ disappointment and was having to fight against a stab of guilt.

Invictus shrugged and arched an eyebrow at the blond elf. He wasn’t going to tell him to go over to Fenris even to talk. Much as he wanted to whisk his husband off for a night of debauchery but he didn’t want to hear about picking sides either.

Zevran breathed an inward sigh and rose to his feet. He glanced around the room and for a moment he wished they were all over in Anders’ newer rooms beneath the Inquisitor’s quarters; the balcony there had been perfect for talking quietly and privately, but here in Anders’ room there was no privacy unless perhaps in the bathroom. Then he restrained a small smile as he made his way over to Invictus.

“Vic, I need a bath - would you come heat the water for me? It rises so cold from the pump at this time of year,” he asked courteously.

“Sure,” Vic said in surprise before heading to the bathing chamber ahead of the Antivan. He was unsure what the elf wanted but it wasn’t like heating water would take so long.

Drawing the door closed behind them, Zevran set his brandy to one side as he began to strip. “Invictus, I think Fenris needs you,” he said softly. “I will not take it amiss if you go to him. I do not think I can give him what he needs just yet, and I have disappointed him, I think. I....” He turned troubled eyes to the mage. “I feel... raw inside, yet,” he confessed. “He needs someone more... whole, healed, than I at present. I do not like that I must disappoint him but....” he sighed, and peeled his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor as he reached for his belt and began to unbuckle it.

“I’ve had enough of being told I protect him and side with him to a fault for a while, thanks. He’ll be alright eventually,” Vic said as he formed a fireball in his hand and let it drop into the water.

At Vic’s words, Zevran let his hands fall to his sides and bowed his head slightly, recognising the chastisement for what it was. “I am sorry,” he answered quietly.

“Don’t apologize, just take your bath and hopefully he’ll be in a better mood soon enough,” Vic said.

Zevran nodded, and lifted his hands to his belt again, laying it and his knives aside before bending to tug off his boots, setting them aside with the same care he’d given his knives, before shucking his pants and kicking them carelessly to one side. Tugging the tie from his hair, he loosened it with his hand as he stepped into the steaming water.

“My thanks, my love,” he murmured as he sank down into the tub, still quiet and withdrawn.

“If you need anything, just call, Zevran,” Vic said as he shut the door and went back to where Fenris was still staring at the fire and Anders seemed a little lost. 

“Is he alright, Vic?” asked Anders, quietly. “He seems more out of sorts than I’d thought.”

“I don’t think so, he told me to take care of Fenris but after being told how much I back Fen to a fault, I was not doing that. He’ll live from some disappointment,” Vic said quietly as he sat next to Anders. 

“If he asked you that, I’m sure he won’t chide you for it, Vic,” replied Anders. “He’d hardly ask you if he was going to object to you and Fen together now, would he? It sounds like he really isn’t feeling himself yet.” He took a sip of his wine.

“It’s a sore spot, Anders; not really feeling like arguing about it,” Vic said quietly. “If Fen stays to himself too long, then I’ll check on him.” 

Anders frowned thoughtfully as he eyed Fenris. “Shame he cut his hair, Vic,” he said a little louder. “That long ponytail was so perfect for giving a good hard yank.” As Fenris turned and stared, startled, Anders merely gave him a slow smile as he sipped his wine.

The Tevinter elf narrowed his eyes at the other man’s comments, not wanting a pity fuck but daring not say that. He turned back to the fire, unsure what Anders was playing at.

Anders downed the rest of his glass of wine then set the empty glass aside as he rose to his feet and approached Fenris. “Up for a challenge, Fen?” he murmured. “I’ll wrestle you. If you can pin me until I submit... you and Vic get to fuck me, any which way you want. If I can pin you down until you submit - Vic and I get to fuck _you_ however _we_ choose. But you’re not allowed to throw the match, or else Vic gets to fuck me however _he_ wants whilst you watch and get nothing. No magic, no powers.” He grinned. “What do you say?”

“What gives? Why are you offering this now? And even without powers I’m stronger than you, Anders. Besides, it's not what I was hoping for earlier,” Fenris said quietly. 

“I want to see just how I match up against you physically now we don’t have to worry about my heart giving out,” replied Anders. “And you forget that I used to be a Grey Warden. The last time we wrestled, I managed to pin you until Vic ordered me to let you go.” He flashed a grin. “ _I_ was the one being a brat on that occasion.”

“I also wasn’t a foot taller, and so much stronger as I am now. Why don’t you and Vic wrestle and winner gets to take me?” Fenris countered slowly. 

“But wouldn’t you like the chance to have us both fuck you at once, love?” purred Anders as he moved closer to the elf. “We can switch it around if you prefer though. If you can pin me to submission, then Vic and I will give you what you want. Both of us at once, if you like. If I can pin you though, then I get you both to fuck me, hmm? Does that sound more your thing?” He arched an eyebrow. “I know you’d like us to just drop the wrestling bit and get straight to the fucking, but I’m curious how we shape up against each other. Your strength... my Grey Warden experience.” He smiled almost shyly. “Indulge me, love? And then I’ll indulge you.” 

Fenris stared at him, unsure about this turn of events. If he was honest, he still was hoping for a long night of debauchery rather than this. “It won’t be a fair fight, I weigh more and I’m stronger. But if you insist on this game, then go ahead.” 

Anders shrugged. “I’ve not had a chance to feel your full strength properly,” he replied. “It’s something I’ve wondered about a few times. Is that really your only objection though - that you’re stronger and heavier?” He frowned slightly. “I’ve seen Zevran wrestle with some of the Chargers who are easily as tall and muscled as you are, and I’m taller than he is. But if you really don’t want to play games, what _do_ you want, love? The way you seemed to be teasing Zevran, I thought....”

“I was in the mood for rope and submission but...I’ll play your game if you want,” Fenris replied quietly before giving Anders a smile. 

“If you aren’t in the mood anymore, it’s ok, love,” Vic added. 

“It’s fine, really. It's totally fine,” Fenris said as he looked up to his husband. 

Anders gave him a quick grin then leaned over to kiss him before he moved over to the nearby couch and began to strip off his tunic and shirt. He folded the tunic and unlaced his shirt, tugging it off swiftly, folding it atop the tunic before bending down to unlace his boots.

Fenris watched him, unsure why he was stripping, then noticed Invictus following suit. He pulled off his clothes except pants and waited for Anders to start things.

Anders moved over to the small table near the window and pushed it back against the wall, then moved to his desk and shover it further back into the workbench area. “Vic, can you and Fenris move that couch over a bit? I don’t want to risk any of us accidentally hitting it, depending how energetic this gets.” He grinned at Fenris.

“Sure,” Fenris said as he and Vic pulled the couch out of the way and waited for any other requests from the blond mage. 

“Anything else need moving?” Vic asked.

Anders turned around, pondering. “Only Zevran if he comes out in the middle of us wrestling,” he smiled. He glanced to Fenris. “Ready then?”

“I suppose; what are the rules, aside from no magic or powers?” Fenris asked warily. 

“Grappling only, no hits. Pin for a count of five; if you pin me and I throw you off before Vic can count to five then it doesn’t count. No holds around the throat, no gouging or biting. Well. Unless you ask nicely.” Anders chuckled. “Apart from that, anything goes, I think.”

“Alright ready for the fun to begin?” Vic asked. He noticed how Fenris still seemed a bit wary of the whole thing and that he still had pants on. “Shouldn’t he be naked, love?” he asked Anders.

“Just pants is fine,” Anders shrugged. “We’ll all be naked one way or another afterwards anyway.” Anders himself was barefoot and dressed only in his pants. “Oh, that’s a good point - genitals are off-limits too. Though that should be fairly obvious, really; we can’t very well have fun fucking if one of us has been... uh... put out of action.”

“Well, get in position and on three, go at it,” Vic said as he stepped out of the way and let them face off. 

“I won’t go easy on you since you asked for this,” Fenris said quietly, a bit unsure about their game but willing to play for the moment.

Anders moved out into the empty space, shaking his arms out before reaching up to tighten the tie holding his hair back. He was well aware that having a long ponytail was likely to put him at a slight disadvantage, but he didn’t really want to waste time putting it up.

He lowered himself slightly into a loose and easy crouch and waited for Fenris.

Fenris dropped into a similar stance and waited for Invictus to count them in. 

“One...two...three!” Vic called before he got out of their way. 

Anders dropped his shoulder and launched himself at Fenris, his shoulder barrelling into Fenris’ solar plexus before the former Grey Warden’s foot swept out and knocked Fenris’ feet out from beneath him.

The elf hit the ground with a loud grunt, taken by surprise as he was by his husband. Fenris got up half way and winced as he felt how hard Anders had hit him. “You’ll pay for that,” he huffed before grabbing at Anders in the hopes of getting him off his feet. 

Anders twisted around, using Fenris’ grip on him against the elf as he flipped Fenris over his hip then dropped down atop him and managed to pin Fenris. Vic only managed to count to two before Fenris had thrown Anders off; the blond mage was up on his feet and circling Fenris immediately with a cheeky grin.

Fenris threw himself at Anders, trying to grab the slender man around the waist but Anders dropped to a low crouch and swept a foot out to take Fenris’ feet out again; Fenris wasn’t about to be caught out by the same trick twice however and leapt over Anders’ leg. He made a snatch for the long blond ponytail but Anders dropped his shoulder to the floor and rolled away, swiftly coming to his feet and spinning to face Fenris again. 

Fenris feinted left and Anders dodged to his right, only to be caught by the elf’s flying tackle and both men went down. Anders grunted as his hip struck the ground and twisted around to try and escape Fenris’ grasp.

“Now, what was that, love?” Fenris growled in his ear as he held the mage down, using his weight to try and keep the blond down for the count. He growled as Anders slipped out of his grip again, and managed to get behind him, twisting his arm up behind his back and forcing him to his knees. 

“What was what, love?” panted Anders with a grin. Then he twisted and thrust hard with his feet and Fenris found himself suddenly on the floor on his stomach, his arm twisted up behind his back and one leg locked between both of Anders’ legs.

Fenris bucked but found himself held fast by his husband. He tried hard to get out of the tight grip his leg was in, but he found it surprisingly difficult to get out of the blond’s grasp. He pushed with his free arm but couldn’t get the leverage he needed, and fell back to his stomach with a low groan. “I yield!” he hissed as he felt his arm getting a little numb from being held so tight.

Anders released him with a breathless chuckle, just as Zevran stepped out of the bathing chamber and came to a halt, staring at the sight of Anders having pinned the taller, stronger elf to the floor. Anders was straightening, disengaging his lock hold on Fenris’ legs and paused to look up at Zevran, distracted.

“Oh, hello, love,” he smiled. “Feeling better after your bath?”

Fenris rolled over to his back as he tried to catch his breath, cussing himself for not staying with his training and staying in shape. He looked up to see Vic smiling at him while pouring water for the elf. 

“You put up a good fight, Fen; here have some water while we decide what to do with you,” Vic said as he sat a cup of water next to the elf’s hand.

Anders chuckled. “He didn’t like the suggestion of my submission meaning you’d both get to fuck me,” he remarked as he sat on the floor, still a little out of breath. “So we changed it up - if he could pin me, we’d both give him what he wanted. Which meant if I won, I’d have you two doing what you want to _me_. I don’t think Fenris fully appreciated the fact that I got pretty damned good at wrestling whilst in the Wardens. Funny how many new recruits used to assume that the skinny mage would be a pushover.... You really should have known better though, love. None of the moves I used required strength or weight... just speed and flexibility.”

“Well, last time we wrestled it was not like this. You got me fair and square, and Mythal that hurt,” Fenris breathed as he looked to Anders, unsure what the blond would do to him. “I’m yours, you won.”

“Then I guess you and Vic had best decide what you want to do with me,” laughed Anders. “You should have stuck to my original suggestion, Fen.”

Fenris couldn’t keep the crestfallen look off his face before he sat up. “I...damn,” he said quietly, even more aggravated at his loss than before. He got himself together as he sat there, waiting for Vic or Anders to start things off.

“ _Mi cuore_ , what was your suggestion, and why does Fenris look so crestfallen?” asked Zevran as he towelled off his hair.

Anders grinned up at him. “The suggestion was that if Fenris could pin me into submission, Vic and I would top him. I believe rope was mentioned. If I could pin him, he and Vic would get to fuck me. I don’t think he expected me to win.”

Zevran raised an eyebrow. “ _Mi cuore_ , are you being a brat?”

Anders gave him an innocent look. “Would I do that?”

Zevran gave him a long, level stare. “Yes, my heart; you would. Behave yourself for Fenris. It is not good to be so smug about winning, hmm? Or shall I show them just how to beat a Grey Warden?”

Anders gave Fenris a contrite look. “I’m sorry, love,” he apologised. “I honestly thought it might be close but that you would have the upper hand.”

Zevran shook his head and sighed. “Give Fenris what he wants, _mi cuore_. Do not let him be disappointed twice in one night, eh? It is bad enough that I have been a disappointment to him.” He slung the damp towel over his shoulder and crossed to the drinks cabinet in bare feet and his leather pants to pour himself more brandy.

Fenris got to his feet and glanced at the blond mage. “It’s alright, I think I’m done playing for tonight. You won, Anders; good fight. I think I’m just going to call it a night, I’d rather not ...I didn’t win and I’d rather not take something I didn’t earn. Go have fun with Vic and Zevran or not; but I’m not in the mood any longer,” the elf said quietly as he padded into the sleeping area and poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle Zevran had left there the previous night.

Anders flopped over onto his back on the floor with a frustrated groan. “Andraste’s flaming _arse_ , Fenris,” he moaned. “Don’t do this again. Do we have to have a fit of the sulks every time you don’t get your own way?” He stared at the ceiling and huffed in frustration. Reaching behind his head he tugged on the leather tie until it slid free, then ran a hand through his loose hair.

Fenris glared at Anders before he stalked over to where he still laid on the floor and stared down at him. “I’m not sulking, Anders. I lost the game. But I don’t need Zevran telling you to pity me either so I lost interest.” 

“Fenris, calm down love. We can salvage this and you can still have fun alright?” Vic said as he wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist and tried to calm him. 

Anders stared up at them both, then slowly sat up as Zevran walked back over with his glass of brandy.

“What did you have in mind, Vic?” asked Anders, quieter. Zevran sipped his brandy; Anders held his hand out absently and Zevran passed him the glass. The blond took a sip then handed it back to the Antivan, his eyes still on Vic and Fenris.

“We go to bed, enjoy each other nice and easy. No rope, no _ser_ , no submission this time. Just us spending time together. That way no one is expecting or hoping for more than any of us can give,” Vic said as he watched them both, not liking how they had squared off again or how tense Fenris was in his arms.

Anders shrugged. “Sure,” he agreed. He got to his feet, dusting his hands off.

“Fine,” Fenris replied, his gaze off from Zevran as he stood there in Vic’s arms. 

“Is it? You’ve been unhappy all night and I don’t want you agreeing just to agree, love,” Vic said in his ear.

“I said it’s fine, Invictus,” Fenris replied sharply, before he was pulled into the other room and was pressed to the wall by his husband. 

“It’s not fine, I can tell by how stiff you were in my arms and that snippy little tone you gave me just now. What the fuck did you want so bad that you’re acting out that you didn’t get it?” Vic asked in frustration.

“I wanted….I wanted you and Anders to... you know,” Fenris said quietly, unable to face Vic’s anger.

“No, I don’t know. Use words, Fenris, I can’t read your mind any more than you can pick out my thoughts without words,” Vic replied

“I wanted you two to fuck me senseless, tie me up and use me. There, you happy?” Fenris admitted.

In the main room, Zevran and Anders were exchanging worried looks. “Zev... I don’t like this,” sighed Anders. “This is... Maker, why couldn’t Fen just have come out at the start and _said_ what he wanted?” He shook his head as he stared at the other two men, talking quietly in the sleeping area. Anders’ own voice was low. “I’m not a bloody mind reader. If I’d known that would have led to Fen sulking like this, I’m not sure I would have bothered.” He glanced to the Antivan. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how quiet you’ve been, love,” he added softly.

“Perhaps I simply had nothing to say,” said Zevran. “When I have the words, then I shall speak, _mi cuore_.”

“Because that doesn’t worry me at all,” snorted Anders. “Maker’s balls. I almost wish now I’d said nothing when Fenris said he wanted his own room....”

Invictus noted the frown on Fenris’ face at his husband’s remark but was more focused on getting them back to a better place for the evening. “What will help, love?”

“Right now? Nothing, Vic. I’ve ruined the evening, and Anders has already snapped at me, but where can I go? If I leave it will be a fight, if I stay and remain quiet it's a fight. I’ve painted myself into a corner and as usual it's my own doing,” Fenris said softly.

“There has to be something you want from us tonight that will soothe you,” Vic asked again.

“No - and hearing Anders wish he’d not said a word when I wanted my own space didn’t help my mood. Even if we were gentle, I would feel like it's because Zevran asked him rather than wanting to give me what I had wanted at the start of the night. Go to them, have a good night, I just want to sit and ponder my foolishness for a while,” Fenris said as he looked past Vic’s shoulder at the fireplace, wishing he’d not started anything with them. 

Anders crossed to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a glass of brandy rather than keep drinking Zevran’s.

Vic backed off from Fenris and went to pour himself a drink, unsure what to do with the elf beyond letting him alone. He didn’t like how things had progressed but he knew trying to force Fenris wouldn’t work either. He poured himself a drink and joined Anders sipping quietly.

Anders sighed very quietly. “Living practically in each others’ pockets like this is not good for us,” he murmured.

“Fenris did ask for his own space if you recall,” Vic said. 

“I know, and I should have listened,” Anders nodded glumly, staring down into his glass of brandy before taking another sip. “He’s annoyed at me now, I take it.”

“I think he’s just… annoyed at himself and disappointed. If he’s upset with anyone, I’d wager it’s Zevran for not playing to begin with and then chiding you after he lost. Let him be, there’s nowhere he can go now and even I know when to leave a crabby ass elf alone,” Vic said; he watched Fenris as the elf sat cross-legged before the fire and then glanced at Zevran for a moment. 

“It’s hardly Zevran’s fault if he’s not feeling in the mood,” murmured Anders under his breath.

“True, but I think he’ll be fine if we let him be until tomorrow. Shame, it was good to see Fenris in a good mood since returning to us.” Vic finished his drink and headed into the sleeping area. Even if they weren’t going to fuck, he wanted to stretch out. 

Zevran had returned to his window seat; he was sitting astride the windowsill, one bare foot resting on the floor, the other hanging down outside the window, his back against the window frame as he took a sip of brandy, his damp hair hanging over one shoulder. He seemed lost in thought as he gazed out at the courtyard below.

Vic rolled over to look at Zevran, a pensive look on his face. “Copper for your thoughts Zevran.” 

The Antivan glanced back to Invictus; with a blink he seemed to focus on the mage, and he gave a slight shrug. “I was thinking on what will happen soon,” he said quietly. “We have Fenris back now; we know it is possible to open a portal between Leto’s world and ours. It cannot be long until a portal can be opened to send Leto and our mirror selves back; and then I think we will have no reason to stay in Skyhold any longer.”

“That’s true, but it seems like you’re unhappy about it?” Vic replied, wondering where this was going. 

Zevran glanced back at Anders and Fenris, then to Vic. “I had not thought at first, much beyond your return from Adamant. And then it was to think about when Fenris should be returned. Now, we will soon bid Leto and the others farewell and it will be time to think more upon what comes after. And... I had not thought on what our future would be like. I was not sure that for Anders there would be a future at all, and for myself I could only see a steady decline with more pain, no? But now Anders and I... we are both strong, and healthy, yes? What Anders did with Fenris - I do not think any of us could have pictured that happening a year, two years ago.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. 

“I think I am still not quite fully aware, myself, of how my new health has changed _me_. And yet... The years of pain I had... they changed me too. The man I am now is not the man you knew in Kirkwall, after all. Much as Fenris is not the man either of us knew. I am still coming to understand this different man I am now, but I had not realised how much I had changed until confronted, in a way, by a Zevran who did not live through those years of pain.”

“I don’t know what to say to that, except that I will listen if you need to speak Zevran,” Vic said carefully as he watched the elf, nervous after Fenris’ fall. “What is bothering you at the core of it? This seems to be a lot more than just a fight, or realizing you’re at full health again, which Fenris did for you, and I know he was glad to see you restored, and to have been able to do that.” Vic sat up and moved closer to where the elf was just in case he had to jump up and catch him. 

“I don’t say that to shame or chide you Zev. But I’m worried for you, both of you. Things have been strained since that night you both spoke alone, neither of you have shared what was said, and if it’s too painful, don’t feel the need to share. I’m also worried about you sitting in a window after Fenris fell out of one,” he admitted.

Zevran merely smiled at him at that admission. “You have seen me stand upon the rafters of this room, Vic - you know I am as at home upon a wall or roof as any cat or crow may be, eh? But you fear me falling that little distance?” He chuckled softly. “I will not fall. Not unless I am pushed - and I think I am safe from that with you, yes? But come - if it will ease your heart then I shall sit upon the bed instead, hmm?”

“I thought I saw Fenris fall to his death...I’m not ...I’m not alright about that still, don’t jest please,” Vic said as he scooted over to make room for the Antivan. 

“Is the plan still Denerim then?” he asked quietly. 

Zevran sat down on the bed. “I think so,” he said, a pensive look upon his face. “Fenris is still unhappy I think, but he would not tell me why. I think he understands now however that until we understand what the future might hold for all of us, Denerim is the better option. We each seem to have different ideas of what we wish to do, after all.” He glanced back towards Anders, who was pouring himself another drink; the Antivan frowned slightly. “ _Mi cuore_ I think is now realising that he has more life left in him and does not wish to be idle, but he does not yet know what he _does_ wish to do. There are cities all over Ferelden where he might be a healer whilst he thinks further on that; and if we choose Denerim then it is, at least, a city which both he and I are familiar with. And Ferelden is a familiar place for you, even if you have not lived in Denerim. You and Fenris can find mercenary work much as you did in Kirkwall, and there are always people who need the services of a man such as I.”

He frowned slightly. “Fenris and I talked of several things, but I do not know that we necessarily agreed on any of them. But I think perhaps we understand a little better some of the things that caused him to hurt me... and why I was hurt by them. And I think in a new place such as Denerim, we will have space enough to work on them. He will feel less useless, as will I. He and I... we are not men of leisurely retirement. And I wonder if this has perhaps been part of our problem, no? Whilst we were in Kirkwall, I was often absent for many months on Crow business, and I was not a rival for Anders’ love. I was... a playmate, a bed partner, and we were affectionate but it was always you three who were close together. And then when we all became part of the Inquisition, we were active, busy - we were soldiers, fighters, scouts - Anders a healer. We were at war, intent on surviving.” He spread his hands with a small shrug. “And then of course when we moved to Nevarra, I was crippled and his heart was weak. Retiring to a remote house where we had no duty more onerous than digging the garden or gathering the apples... Anders and I, we were - perhaps not content, so much as settled in that. We did not expect misfortune to follow us there, and... I think upon it now, and I wonder if perhaps _mi cuore_ is right and there was not some curse upon that house... perhaps the land itself. So many things went wrong there.”

He shrugged and lay back upon the bed. “But now he and I are healthy again, and I think perhaps I am no more ready to resign myself to a quiet retirement than he is. And of all of us, I think perhaps I am the youngest of us, though of course I am an elf so perhaps I look ageless to you all, eh? But I am not yet halfway through my thirties and... I am restless.”

“Fenris would not tell me why he doesn't want to move to Denerim either. I think he feels forced to go because the rest of us wanted it. Though to be honest, I am not exactly excited at the prospect of returning to Ferelden but what else is there to do?” Vic worried at the covers as he considered his next words, then decided against speaking up for Fenris again, it was getting to be a sore spot for him, enough to make him curb his tongue. Instead he gave Zevran a small smile and tried to keep their chat pleasant.

“Do you think we can find a place big enough for us all to have our own space; for the kids to visit as well? I would miss having them around if there isn’t room for them to stay for a longer visit,” Vic asked finally, worried about how the move would make things go between them. 

“A large enough house? Of a certainty. How to pay for it however? We are not in the pay of the Inquisition now, after all. Anders will be able to take coin as a healer - if we can persuade him not to offer healing to all who need it without consideration of pay. But this is Anders, and so....” He gave Vic a rueful smile. “We must cut our cloth according to our means. A large house in a city costs much. But we shall see. The others - well, Wynne I think wishes to stay and study here at the College. Perhaps Pin and her wife also. And Callus of course has his duties with the Chargers. They may wish to take rooms at a nearby inn. They are not children, after all, and perhaps have their own ideas of where they would wish to stay. And of course, for all except Callus, they can simply visit us there and then return back to the College to sleep each evening.” 

“We have a little money saved up remember, but I can see your point. I just worry that if we don’t have enough space, it will be this all over again. Getting on each others’ nerves without room to breathe. Would it hurt anything if Fenris got his own room until we got out of here? Or maybe me? This place was not built for four men to share it. We barely fit in the bed as it is,” Vic asked. 

Zevran tucked his hands behind his head as he stared up at the canopy. “Anders himself regrets having objected, I think, no?” he shrugged. “And this room - whilst spacious enough for two - is rather claustrophobic for four.”

“True, but I wonder if we say yes to a room now and him in a mood, if he’ll think we’re pushing him away after tonight’s failed attempt at being playful. Why can’t anything be easy lately Zevran?” Vic asked as he flopped on his back and sighed. “I regret not just saying no to the wrestling to begin with, hell I regret a lot about tonight.”

Zevran smirked slightly. “Oh, it was not all bad, Invictus. I was not expecting to come out of the bathroom to _that_ view, after all. I think I will have to teach Anders a lesson however; it would not do for him to become _too_ complacent now he has found his strength and his stamina again. I do not think I could best Fenris in a fight, but Anders? I _know_ I could best _him_. Though perhaps I might enjoy losing to him on occasion....”

“It wasn’t all bad for you Zev, for me it was not all that fun a night. Besides, telling Anders to give Fen what he wants didn’t help; and I doubt Fenris will want to play with any of us for a while after tonight,” Vic replied, and winced as he heard a door shut from the other room. He hoped it was just the other man going for a bath and not leaving the suite.

“I was not expecting him to want to play at all,” replied Zevran quietly. “The problem was that I think he expected that I _would_.” The smile had disappeared from his lips once more.

“That’s for you two to work out, because I can’t figure him or you out lately. Unsure what prompted him being so playful but it won’t happen any time soon probably. You know he doesn’t trust easily and offering to play may have been more than just a good mood. But again, damned if I know Zevran. I’m going to leave him alone for now, and maybe after he returns from taking them to visit their version of you, I’ll try to talk to him.” Vic sat up to strip and get under the covers. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired and could go for actual sleep but if you want to keep talking, I’m getting comfortable for now.”

“I think that I would like to speak to this other version of me, whilst I still have the chance,” said Zevran quietly. He glanced to Vic, then rose from the bed to go pour himself another glass of brandy.

“What on earth for? That also means asking Fenris to take you and I know he’s not really wanting to be around them more than he has to. I wouldn’t do it, but that’s me. Good luck and if you plan to go, maybe now is better than tomorrow with his other people around?” Vic said as he got settled in bed.

Zevran sighed. “Because he is who I might have been if things had been different. Perhaps if I talk to him, I will understand myself better, no? And perhaps I am simply curious.” He shrugged. “Fenris may refuse in any case. But I will ask.”

“I guess so… good luck,” Vic said quietly, confused by Zevran’s desire to talk to the other him, especially his reason. He didn’t question it but thought it odd. He closed his eyes after he felt the bed shift from the elf rising. 

Zevran walked out into the main room and glanced around; he frowned, not seeing Anders at first, and then his eyes softened as he heard faint snores. He deftly plucked the glass from Anders’ lax fingers as the mage slept, slumped at one end of the couch nearest the fire. Setting it aside, he tugged Anders over until the mage was lying down, then he took the almost-full glass and sat nearby, sipping slowly at Anders’ brandy as he stared at the fire and waited for Fenris.

The elf appeared finally, a towel around his neck and his sleep pants on. He glanced at Zevran then noticed Anders was asleep already. He ignored the Antivan to pick up Anders so he could sleep in a bed, and not wake up in pain again. He tucked the blond in, and gave Invictus a kiss on the cheek though he was already asleep. 

Fenris turned to find Zevran watching him, but he chose to go back to the fireplace and sit rather than chancing a fight again. He didn’t want anything but to sit quietly and think. 

Zevran reclined back on the couch, his eyes on the fireplace. “Fenris... I would like to ask if you would take me to speak with the other Zevran,” he said softly. “I appreciate that perhaps you prefer not to spend any more time in his presence than you absolutely have to, so I will not ask that you remain whilst I talk with him. But I would like the chance for him and I to talk.”

Fenris glanced over his shoulder as he thought of a sarcastic response but kept it to himself. “When?” 

Zevran shrugged. “Whenever would be most convenient, really. Though perhaps Leto and the others might not wish to have me there whilst they spend time with him....”

“Does that mean now, tomorrow morning, tomorrow evening?” Fenris asked as he tried to keep his irritation to a minimum. 

“If now would not be too much of an inconvenience, then I would appreciate that,” replied Zevran. “You need not stay if you prefer. I am content for you to send me to him, and then retrieve me at your leisure.” He shrugged.

“Considering he tried to kill you on sight, and I’m sure Anders would have my hide if you were to come to harm, I will stay near the safe house until you are done.” Fenris said gracelessly as he rose to put on clothes. He dressed quickly and got his sword. “Ready?”

Zevran dressed swiftly and tugged on his boots before buckling on his knife belt. “I am,” he nodded. “I think it unlikely he will try to kill me however.” He picked up the bottle of brandy and inclined his head towards Fenris.

“Hold on to me, this will be quick,” Fenris replied as he waited until he felt the other elf grip him before lighting his brands and taking them to Crestwood. He knocked briskly, hopeful the other elf may even be asleep.

There was no answer; Zevran merely raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “He is supposed to be in hiding, yes?” he murmured. “He will not answer to a knock at the door. Wardens would not knock, and therefore anyone who comes knocking would not likely be someone he would wish to see.” He smiled. “Wait here... were I he? I would be sneaking out of a window at the back.”

Before Fenris could stop him, Zevran had slipped away into the darkness. There was silence for a while, broken only by the sounds of waves lapping at the shore of the lake some distance away, and the call of some night bird. 

A moment later, the door swung open and Zevran let Fenris in with a small smile. 

The other Zevran was lighting a single candle on a table in the main room.

“He was, indeed, climbing out a window at the back,” said Zevran. The other Crow was eyeing them both with an expression of curiosity.

“I was not expecting you back before morning,” he said quietly. “I was certainly not expecting you to bring your own Zevran to see me.”

“Ah, you must forgive me; I asked him,” shrugged Fenris’ Antivan. “And he was good enough to indulge me. I... wished to talk with you.”

The Crow tilted his head to one side. “Merely talk?” he asked. “Or had you something more in mind?” He looked Zevran up and down. “Talk, more than talk; it is all one to me, no? Though there are things I must admit I am curious as regards you also....”

Zevran chuckled and set the bottle of brandy down upon the table. “Talk... and to share a drink, perhaps,” he shrugged.

The Crow glanced to Fenris. “ _And him?_ ” he asked, switching to Antivan - a dialect Fenris was less familiar with; not the vulgar form Fenris had heard his own Antivan use when cursing, but not the common form he’d heard most often from Zevran and was familiar with himself, however.

“ _Fenris brought me here; he has little interest in what we have to talk of, I think, only in my safety,_ ” replied Zevran.

The Crow turned back to Fenris. “You think I might hurt him, eh?”

“You did try to murder him on first sight,” Fenris remarked cooly as he looked between the two Crows. “Do as you wish, I will be back in a few hours or at first light. I’m sure Zevran can take care...my… the one I brought can take care of himself if you try anything foolish.” 

Zevran gave him an intense look, not missing how close Fenris had come to calling Zevran his, but he said nothing as the Crow merely inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I am certain he can, yes. But he will come to no harm with me. I swear it.”

“Fine, do as you will with each other. I’m off to get some sleep. Either way, I will return by early afternoon with the rest of your group.” Fenris replied before leaving them to their talk, or whatever they were going to do. He stripped off and sat before the fire again, exhausted but unable to wind down enough to rest.


	36. Chapter 36

The waystation was silent as Fenris, Anders and Dorian stepped out from the portal. The early afternoon sunshine was warm, but there was a bite in the air that suggested there were perhaps only a few more weeks of summer left, autumn storms not far away.

“It’s very... quiet?” said Anders, looking around. “Huh. A Warden waystation. Haven’t been in one of these in years. Probably not since this one was last in regular use, from the looks of it.” he led the way over to the hut and pushed open the door, the others following behind.

They found not one, but two Zevrans - which was unexpected to both Anders and Dorian. The magister frowned as he stared at the two elves; one lay stretched out asleep on one of the beds, the other was finishing off an apple as they entered. He grinned at Dorian.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” he greeted him. “You must forgive my other self - we talked late into the night, talking, and I think he had had brandy before he and I shared the rest of the bottle.” The Crow’s eyes slid over to Fenris. “You see, he is perfectly unharmed, as I promised you.”

“I wasn’t concerned,” Fenris replied with a glance to the sleeping Antivan. “Will you wake him? I don’t want to start the day getting stabbed when he reacts out of reflex.” He stared at the double of his husband tiredly, just wanting to go.

“It has been so long since I tried to awaken a sleeping fellow Crow and not merely kill them in their sleep - this will be a novelty,” chuckled the Crow. He moved to the bed and stood over Zevran as he lay there, sleeping deep and peacefully.

“I almost hate to wake him,” said the Crow wistfully as he stared down at him. “I may never have this chance to see how I look as I sleep ever again. He looks so peaceful... so untroubled.” He smiled sadly. “I do not think I have slept so deeply myself very often. So rarely have I ever dared. Ah well.” He gave a sly smile. “He should not sleep so deeply in a strange place either, hmm?”

He stared down at Zevran as the Antivan lay there, oblivious, his hands resting upon the pillow either side of his head - and then abruptly he dropped down to cover Zevran’s body with his own, pinning Zevran’s wrists and legs to the bed with a laugh.

Zevran awoke with a start, instantly attempting to throw off the weight he felt, pinning him down and struggling as he felt his wrists held fast until he recalled where he was, and with whom. Rather than waste effort struggling further, he stared up at the other Crow. He blinked at him, then glanced to the others. His eyes snapped back to the Crow and he muttered something to him that Fenris couldn’t quite catch; it wasn’t quite Antivan, but it didn’t sound like anything he quite recognised either - though perhaps the thieves’ cant used by some of the low caste dwarves in the Carta came closest.

The Crow shrugged, replied in the same tongue, then grinned before letting Zevran up. Zevran rose to his feet and swept a hand through his hair. The two Antivans nodded to each other before grasping each other by the shoulders. They kissed each other on both cheeks in a perfunctory manner that suggested familiar manners and courtesy between fellows rather than intimacy, then the Crow patted Zevran on the back.

“May the shadows always shade you, my friend!” called the Crow.

“And the hounds never find your scent,” nodded Zevran, lifting a hand in farewell. He turned to Fenris.

“I am done here now,” he said quietly.

“I see,” Fenris replied before looking to the others. “I’ll return in a few hours, no one should bother coming to your rooms assuming that you’re all grieving so the deception should hold. I’ll check and see how things are progressing with getting you back where you belong so I can update you all upon my return. Anything before I go?” Fenris asked tersely.

Zevran shrugged. “You should probably all know that yes, we did sleep together,” he replied. 

“I always knew I was a fantastic lover,” chimed in the other Crow. “But it is nice to verify it yourself, no?” he grinned wickedly.

Zevran shrugged. “It perhaps is no more different in some ways than to use my own hand and yet... well. He is me, and I am him. And I find I am not so changed as I thought. Or as _he_ thought. But now it is time to go back.”

Fenris clenched his jaw but didn’t yell as he really wanted to, after all he knew had no leg to stand on. However it still hurt that he’d gone with his double after rejecting him the night before. He mustered a tight smile before offering his arm to the Antivan. “We should go so they can speak privately.” 

Zevran gave him a knowing look. “And so _we_ can speak privately?” He laid a hand on Fenris’ arm. “Let us go. I am still tired, and my head aches.”

The taller elf lit his brands, taking them back to their rooms, letting go of Zevran quickly and heading to the drinks cabinet for wine, opting to save heavier spirits for after retrieving the others. He took up a chair by the fire, staring into it as he tried to keep all the angry, wrong things that was were in his head in before he caused another blow up.

Zevran stumbled slightly as he was abruptly released. He caught himself on the edge of the table and stood still for a moment, then stumbled in the direction of the privy rather hurriedly.

Fenris leaned back in the chair, and listened as he heard the other elf retching, waiting to see if he was needed or not. If he heard him fall, he’d go to Zevran but not until he was called for. He waited for that call but only heard rather disturbing noises which drew him to go to the door of the privy to check on the other elf.

“Do you need help? Or do you wish to be left alone until you are ….done?” Fenris asked once the Antivan had thrown up again. He heard a faint, pained groan from within, before Zevran retched then spat. A moment later Fenris heard the pump being operated, then a loud exclamation and the sound of splashing water.

“Zevran, do you need help?” Fenris called out again as he heard the splashing around. 

There was silence for a moment, then a dripping sound before the door opened and Zevran emerged. He was wet through, his hair dripping wetly down his back; the Antivan gave him a slightly bleary look then shrugged. He turned away slightly, clumsily trying to peel off his soaked clothing.

“The water, is freezing, no?” he muttered, his teeth chattering a little as he managed to strip off the shirt, the wet fabric clinging to his skin. 

“You could have asked me to warm the water, I can do _that_ much magic,” Fenris said as he watched the elf stumbling around in an effort to get his clothes off. He noticed the Antivan had at least taken his boots off, but it seemed that anything much more than that was giving him trouble, particularly as he began to shiver.

“Was not thinking,” Zevran managed. “ _Brasca_ , I think I need to sit down before I fall down....”

Fenris went over but hesitated before offering to help the elf out of his clothes. “Do you wish assistance?” 

Zevran hesitated, then nodded, closing his eyes. “ _Si_ ,” he muttered. “Please. I do not understand it, I am sure I was not that drunk when you took me there last night....”

“Well if you two finished a whole bottle between you, it’s no wonder you’re drunk. I’m sure that me teleporting us out quickly did not help,” Fenris said as he got Zevran to sit down so he could get the sodden clothes off him. He was quick but made sure not to jostle the Antivan too much as he wrapped him in a towel. “Do you need me to carry you to the bed?” he asked.

Zevran sighed. “Need? No,” he replied. “There is nothing wrong with me except too much brandy and not enough food or sleep.” He leaned over and wrung out his hair.

“Very well, I’ll be by the fireplace should you change your mind.” Fenris said before picking up the wet clothes so he could hang them up to dry in the bathing room. He was slow about it, hoping Zevran would have lain down or gone for a nap by the time he came out but he saw the elf right where he left him.

Zevran was rubbing his forehead slowly, slightly hunched over. He glanced briefly at Fenris, then rose to his feet. He made his way over to Anders’ workbench area to poke amongst the potion bottles in search of an elfroot potion.

“Do you need something else, Zevran?” Fenris asked as he flipped through the book, not actually reading it. He was being cautious around the other elf, especially as he tried to rein in his irritation about Zevran sleeping with his mirror self. 

“A new head,” groused Zevran. “I am certain I was fine before you brought me back here - damn it, where is the elfroot?” 

Fenris tossed his book aside to find the herb, plucking it out easily from the bottles on Anders’ workbench. He handed it to Zevran, and waited to see if the Antivan wanted anything else. He watched him take the bottle but struggled to open it. He held his hand out for it, hopeful he wouldn’t get sniped at for offering. 

Zevran was silent however as he handed the bottle back to Fenris, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes for a moment until he felt Fenris push the bottle back into his hand again; he downed it before he opened his eyes again.

“You are annoyed with me, eh?” he said quietly. “That makes two of us then; I am also annoyed with me. Though for different things, I think. Go ahead. If you wish to shout at me, get it over with; my head cannot ache much worse than it already does and doubtless I deserve it.”

“What good is shouting at you going to do? It will just cause another fight and I have no more energy for it. Go take a nap, or do what you need for your headache. I need to go get them in a few hours and I should be rested as I am not used to so many trips back and forth,” Fenris grabbed another bottle of elfroot and handed it to Zevran in case he needed it later. “Do you need healing or other herbs?” he asked. 

Zevran shook his head. “It is just too much brandy,” he replied. “And I do not have the energy for a fight either. So perhaps if my head is aching too much and you have no energy... perhaps we can discuss this instead. I thought we had made a beginning of healing, Fenris. I am not so much of a fool as to think one talk between us and all is well - but there is something I have not done which has annoyed you, and now I think you are angry that I spent last night with the other me, but you feel you do not have the right to be. I have been honest however, and I think you must have known it was likely to happen. After all, we have been married long enough that you should know what manner of man I am now, no?”

“I wouldn’t dare say a word about it; what right do I have to complain? After all, I couldn’t keep it in my pants for two weeks, right?” Fenris said bitterly before he calmed himself. “I figured you would sleep with him, but I’d hoped I was wrong. Well, I wasn’t; but what can I say, right? So it is what it is. As for the manner of man you are, what does that even mean?” the elf asked quietly. 

“Fenris, what happened between the other Zevran and I was purely a physical thing. We are the same man - the same wants, desires, the same fantasies; he knows precisely how I want something, how far I will allow myself to go, he know the limits of my body because they are _his_ wants, desires, limits. What happened was something that could only ever happen once, and certainly would be no basis for a relationship even if were one possible - which you and I know is not the case. And so does he. It is not you he dreams of; and I dream of you. It is not my reflection I wish to be married to, but you. Do you think me such a narcissist that I might throw you over - any of you - for my own shadow, my own hand? You know that it is always you that I have been faithful to. You _know_ this. Even when I am not myself, you have known me. And you know that I would be curious about this, yes? I have always pushed myself as far as I could - I have always viewed limits as being something to test and to break. So. Yes, given a night with another me, I would wish to explore that as far as I could. And now I have done that. It was a unique experience - and yet it also was not, because there was nothing _unpredictable_ in it, and that is where a mirror of myself could never truly compare to any of you. I thrive on the unpredictable, the challenging; something a little out of my control, yes?”

Fenris stared at him, still not believing he wanted to be his husband, not entirely. Their talk had been productive, painful but not anything he wanted to repeat. “I don’t think you’re a narcissist Zevran. I hope it was what you wanted,” he finished quietly, unwilling to snap as he wished to, instead he simply stared into the smaller elf’s eyes, seeking something. 

Zevran stared up at him, faintly perplexed, not sure why Fenris was staring at him so intently but keeping his gaze on Fenris. The elfroot was finally starting to kick in, though his stomach was still roiling uneasily, and he dearly wanted to lie down. He held still however as he stared up at Fenris, silent.

“Was there anything else, or do you need to rest?” Fenris finally asked as he looked away, not sure if he wanted to speak further or not. He wanted to be angry, to yell about Zevran turning him away for games they used to play and sleeping with the other Zevran. It wasn’t fair of him but it was how he felt. Instead he kept quiet and waited for the other elf’s reply. 

“You have been in another Thedas, with another you - not once, but twice now,” Zevran said softly. “Were you never curious? Would you have taken it somewhere between you, had you had the opportunity?” Before Fenris could respond, Zevran gave him a half-smile. “I know that you have not, otherwise it would not bother you that I have,” he added.

“Then why did you ask? I wouldn’t touch Leto if my life depended on it,” Fenris replied, his irritation showing even more as he watched that annoying half smile on Zevran’s face. “The other time there was no interest or opportunity, we were trying to survive a fight in the Fade. Not that I would have tried even then, since that Fenris was a bit more concerned with Arden,” he replied angrily. 

“Ah, but did I not say, _had you the opportunity_?” pointed out Zevran. “And there, I think, is the difference, is it not? I was curious. You, then have not been curious. But I think you were thinking whether to ask me something? You were staring at me very intently.”

“I decided against it, since the asking would cause a fight and the answer would just hurt me...again. It doesn’t matter,” Fenris said before turning to get his drink. He sipped it quietly, trying to calm down and not leave. He didn’t want to undo what little progress they had made, and he was starting to get a headache of his own from their conversation. 

Zevran threw his hands up. “You stare meaningfully into my eyes for several minutes and it doesn’t matter?” He shook his head. “Very well. When you decide it does matter, feel free to returning to gazing into my eyes because that part, I like. The not knowing what it means or where I stand? That, I do not like.” He strode towards the sleeping area, pulling the towel from his hips and starting to rub his hair dry as he continued naked across the room.

Fenris scowled as the elf as he walked off, and he tried to calm himself but wound up flinging the book clear across the room in a fit of irritation. He knew what he _wanted_ to ask, but didn’t dare ask if Zevran really wanted to be married to him. It still gnawed at him, the other elf’s admission that he had lost affection for him. “ _Venhedis_ ,” he snarled to himself as he tried to make up his mind on staying or going.

Zevran had halted, midstep, as the book was flung across the room, his head whipping around to pinpoint the angle it had been thrown from instinctively. He stared wordlessly at Fenris, then turned back, slower, to continue to the sleeping area. He let the towel drop to the floor then crawled onto the bed, rolling over onto his back as he drew an arm up to cover his eyes.

Fenris sat there for a while, trying to get himself together to approach the other elf or leaving. He finally went to the sleeping area, but turned away when he saw the elf’s nudity. “Can I tell you what I wished to ask, or will you fight with me if I am honest?” he asked as he stared out the window.

“I will not fight,” said Zevran quietly, not lowering his arm.

“You said you wish to be my husband, but I wonder if you actually do. Our conversation notwithstanding, I find it hard to accept you still wish to be with me. Being rejected for play, then you taking your opportunity the same night with the other you? Hurt me, but this isn’t ...I know the fault is mine, but it still stings. I was searching for what was real between us, because I don’t know anymore Zevran,” Fenris admitted, glancing quickly over his shoulder to see the elf hadn’t even looked at him as he spoke. He turned back to stare out the window as he awaited the Antivan’s response. 

“You wished me to play. I cannot, Fenris; I do not fully know who I really am just now, and I still feel raw... vulnerable. That is not a position from which I am able to tie another up or play the kind of games you were seeking, Fenris.” Zevran’s eyes were still hidden by his arm. “What I did last night with the other me? That was to find myself... and it was perhaps a comfort thing... it was not a rejection of you, Fenris. It was to try and center myself as much as anything else. I was finding out just how far he and I have differed... how much I have remained the same. It seems that at heart I still remain Zevran Arainai... the ways in which I have differed do not matter so much in the many more ways in which I have remained myself, even after all that I have experienced. Perhaps I am a little older, a little wiser, a little sadder... but the Zevran that you knew back in Kirkwall is still there. But before last night... I did not know that. I could only hope so... but I feared not.”

Zevran sighed softly. “My head is still splitting. Please do not chide me for not being able to play, _carissimi_ ; you would not have enjoyed my poor attempts, and it would have been too painful to all of us.”

“It seemed you rejected me in whole after going off to have a bath instead of talking or saying that. You telling Anders to give me what I wanted … did not help either. In case you missed it, I didn’t enjoy much of that night at all. I shouldn’t have tried,” Fenris said quietly as he stared out at the people in the courtyard. He was still wary of being in the window seat, so he stood there, tense and just about to throw in the towel. 

“I needed a little time to pull myself together,” said Zevran quietly. “Could not face your disappointment - not whilst feeling so flayed open and raw still myself. Do you truly think any of us enjoyed it, Fenris? Perhaps none of us should try then, hmm? Am I not allowed a moment of weakness?” There was no censure in Zevran’s voice; the Antivan kept his voice low, quiet, calm.

“No one said you could not have a moment of weakness, did I not say the fault was mine? But I still _feel_ Zevran,” Fenris said tiredly before turning to look at the elf’s face. “I will mind myself from now on, that put me off trying to be playful for the time being. Enjoy your nap, I need time to think.” he said sadly.

Zevran pulled his arm away to look up at Fenris then winced with a faint, pained groan, the light from the window stabbing through his head. He rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms as he lay still; slowly he relaxed as the elfroot finally began to kick in, sleep following soon afterwards.

He was deeply asleep when Invictus and Anders returned; both mages were a little out of breath, and Anders’ hair was dishevelled, half-unravelled from the loose ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“Maker, Vic, the look on Krem’s face though!” Anders was laughing. “You won’t be able to pull that trick on him a second time though - he’ll remember that one!” He set his staff beside the door as he pulled his tunic open. “I’d forgotten how hot it gets in the training ring after a few bouts - it’s in the full sunshine by mid afternoon.”

“Very true, I’ll have to be faster next time,” Vic said as he headed for the baths and caught sight of a note in Fenris’ writing. He frowned as he showed it to Anders, hopeful it didn’t mean another fight had happened in their absence. “I hope he’s in a better mood when he returns, I know he was in kind of a snit before leaving to take the others to see their Zevran,” he remarked as he pulled his sweaty tunic off and wrinkled his nose up at it. “Share a bath with me love? Or want to be quick about it?” Vic called back as he started the tub for them. 

“Hmm?” asked Anders as he frowned. Bending down, he carefully picked up the book lying on the floor beneath the window and then made a small noise of distress over the damaged spine. 

He turned around and halted as he spotted Zevran lying sprawled face-down on the bed, naked and deeply asleep; the Antivan hadn’t stirred even with all the noise they’d been making.

He wandered over to the bathroom and paused in the doorway, running his fingers over the damaged book with an unhappy look.

“What's the matter love?” Vic asked as he pulled his pants off and got ready to heat the water for them. 

“I’m wondering if someone’s been in our room, love,” said Anders. “This book has been thrown at something - look, the spine’s broken! But Zevran is asleep naked on the bed... I can’t imagine he’d have slept through anyone sneaking in. But... who would damage one of my books?”

“Ask Fenris when he comes back? Or Zevran when he wakes up, he probably knows but I’m guessing he’s exhausted to have slept through all the noise we’ve made coming back in. Just set it aside, have a bath with me and then hopefully Zevran will be awake and can tell us what happened,” Vic said as he sunk into the tub with a filthy sounding groan. 

Anders blinked. “Andraste’s arse, Vic, warn a man before you make sounds like that,” murmured the blond mage as he set the book carefully aside then slipped into the bathroom before he started stripping off his clothes.

The door swung closed behind him, leaving Zevran to sleep in peace.

**

Dorian and Zevran were staring rather intently at each other; Anders backed away. 

“Look, why don’t you two just... resolve all those... uh... _tensions_ , I’ll go take a walk outside,” he said before slipping out of the hut. He turned and glanced around. “They’ll be -”

He fell silent as he realised he was alone. “Oh,” he muttered. “Alright, I guess Fenris has better things to do than just hang around waiting and playing gooseberry whilst Zev and Dorian get all their _tension_ out. And their lack of _at_ tention....” He frowned.

Playing gooseberry wasn’t something he was overly keen on doing himself, truth be told, but then again it wasn’t exactly a familiar feeling right now. Feeling _anything_ other than terror or traumatised was, he had to admit, still a bit of a novelty though. He wasn’t exactly too keen on his own company at this point however, and he’d been rather hoping Fenris would be around to talk to.

He made his way towards the sounds of waves on a shingle beach, and looked out across the wide waters of Lake Calenhad. He’d recognised the distant spire of Kinloch shortly after they’d arrived, of course, but that distant view was as close as he cared to get, thank you very much, and he wasn’t so lonely as all that as to want to get any closer.

He stood just above the high water mark and glanced around the rocks, then blinked as he thought he saw something. Moving quietly, he started inching towards that flash of silvery white he’d seen, and his eyes widened as he realised it was a very small white dragon. A look of delight crossed his face as he crept closer. “Oh sweet Maker’s breath, aren’t you the most _darling_ little thing??” he exclaimed. “Awww, you are so cute!”

He didn’t stop to think whether the creature might bite; he scooped it up in his arms, cooing over it as he gently ran a hand down the sinuous long neck and back, exclaiming over how soft and warm the dragon’s hide was. “You are such an adorable little thing! You are the prettiest little dragon I have ever seen - yes you are, yes you _are!_ ”

He was aware he’d dropped into babbling at the creature in baby talk, but he couldn’t help it. “And you have the _prettiest_ green eyes and oh Maker you are so _precious_! Who’s a beautiful little dragon then? Who’s a cute little dragon!”

Fenris butted his head against Anders’ hand and let out a cross between a purr and growl, content to let the mage cuddle him for a bit. He even flicked his tongue out and licked Anders’ fingers with what could pass for a smile from a small dragon. That netted him a gentle little rub behind a delicate little ear as Anders’ eyes softened and the blond mage sank down to sit on the beach with the small creature. 

“I had no idea dragons as small as you even existed,” Anders murmured, a note of wonder in his voice. “I always thought myself a cat person, but you... you’re quite the enchanting little thing, aren’t you? Are you a boy or a girl, I wonder? Aww, look at you - you like having your ears stroked, don’t you?” Anders stared down at him with a soft smile. “The only dragon I’ve ever been this close to before was either trying to eat me, trying to turn me into a crispy mage brickette or else snarling at me an awful lot. I’m afraid I’ve always been rather terrified of dragons, but you’re rather nice. Such beautiful wings, too. Why - they’re all silvery, almost like lyrium!” 

Fenris gave a happy little chirp at that, surprisingly fine with Anders talking to him and holding him like this. He butted his head against the other mage’s chin gently, hoping he’d get more scratches behind his ears and gentle words. It was a nice change from the stress of the last couple of days. 

Anders chuckled as the small dragon butted its head almost imperiously against his chin. “Alright, alright! Did I stop stroking you, did I? can’t have that, now, can we?” He obligingly stroked and petted the shimmering creature. “Maker. I wish I could take you back with me,” he sighed wistfully. “But that wouldn’t be fair to you, really. You’re a wild creature - no matter how friendly you’re being to a lonely mage who’s a bit unwanted right now - and it wouldn’t be right to lock you up in a big castle like that, no matter how much like a cat you’re behaving. But you’re such a beautiful thing... it’s a good job people don’t know about little dragons like you. You’re safer that way, I think.”

He lay on his back, the dragon on his chest as he ran his hands along the soft white hide and smiled up at it. “It’s a good job you’re not hungry, or I bet you’d try to eat me, wouldn’t you?” he teased. “Are you a big fierce mage-eating dragon? Rawr!” he chuckled. “No... you’re a sweet, gentle, pretty little dragon, with the cutest green eyes I ever did see.”

Fenris huffed before cuddling up to Anders, and letting himself get petted until soon he felt the mage’s breath slowed down and soon he heard soft snores. Anders’ hand fell away as the warm afternoon sun, the silence on the beach and the enchanting green eyes of the dragon all conspired to carry the mage off into a deep sleep. 

Anders slept on, as the afternoon sun wore on towards evening, the tide on the shore slowly coming in to lap around his feet as he sprawled there in unconscious abandon, the dragon curled up dozing next to him.

Fenris woke up eventually, stretching out and yawning loudly as he sat up as himself. He leaned over and nudged the mage to wake up. “Hey, we’ve been asleep for a while, you should get up.”

Anders stirred slightly and gave a faint groan. His eyelids fluttered and then he slowly opened his eyes to stare dazedly up at Fenris. “Huh? Fenris? Didja scare it away?” he slurred. “Li’l tiny dragon... was so sweet.”

“Oh that was me, I fell asleep too,” Fenris said quietly as he stared out at the water. “Learned to change my size a while back.” 

“That was....” Anders stared up at him, then slowly sat up. “Oh.” He sighed. “I... I should have guessed there were no small dragons like that,” he said in a small voice. “Thought it odd that there weren’t any in books.” He sounded disappointed. 

He frowned suddenly. “Hey, why are my feet so cold?” he wondered. “I’ve been lying in the sun all after -” he broke off as he stared down and realised the tide was coming in steadily. “Knickerweasels! Th-th-that’s cold!!” He scrambled to his feet and splashed back up out of reach of the waves. 

“Come on, let’s see if they are done yet so I can ferry you all back. It's almost dinner time I think,” Fenris said as he helped Anders to his feet. 

“I have a splitting headache,” winced Anders. “Which is what I get for falling asleep and sleeping in the sun all afternoon on a beach with a cute little dragon who wasn’t actually a dragon but... oh, see, now that explains all those weird dreams I had of Leto sitting on my chest and purring then trying to eat me. Because _that’s_ not weird at all.”

“Sorry for causing you weird dreams, hopefully he won’t eat you,” Fenris quipped. 

“Oh, I don’t know, he _might_ ,” said Anders dolefully. “He certainly growled at me enough this morning.”

“Me too,” Fenris agreed ruefully. “Will you all be ok? I worry at him being so snappy with you,” he added.

Anders shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so. I know it’s because he’s worried about Zevran and trying to pretend he isn’t. I know he does care about him really - he just feels he’s not entitled to, after what he did to him. And he’s still hurt over Dorian, and of course he won’t listen when I try to tell him Zev does still care - and Dorian will too, once he’s done being angry on Zevran’s behalf. He’ll have to get over that soon though, because Zevran doesn’t like other people fighting his battles for him. It’s a novelty at the moment, but....”

“I can see where Leto could come to that conclusion. Hopefully he’ll get over it before you all go home, or maybe even before so you can figure out what you want to do before trying to resume your lives in your world,” Fenris said quietly. “Unfortunately, I know all too well how he feels” he murmured.

“And maybe you’re as wrong as Leto is then,” said Anders, frowning down at his boots as he squelched his way back up towards the hut. “Ugh... wet feet. Been a long time since last my boots were full of Calenhad water. At least this time I’m not _completely_ soaked through....”

“This is like talking to my husbands, the very thing I hoped to escape until later,” Fenris remarked as they approached the door. 

“Y’know... I don’t even really _know_ your husbands,” said Anders. “Your Anders has over ten years’ more experience with magic and life in general, I’m sure your Zevran has been far better treated by you than ours was, and you have that, uh, other chap instead of Dorian,” he carried on, his voice slowing as he stared at Dorian’s bare backside.

Zevran was sitting up on the bed, his hair in disarray and a satisfied smirk on his face. “What about my Dorian?” he purred. “Admiring his arse? It is pretty, no?”

Dorian frowned over his shoulder. “We haven’t finished talking,” he said tersely.

“I have wet boots and a headache and I’m sorry, but yes - you have,” said Anders firmly. “Unless you are seriously going to insist on me sitting outside in wet boots with a splitting headache just so I can throw up all over Leto when we get back? Which I might just do anyway if he snaps at me again,” he added.

“My friend, are you alright?” asked Zevran, concerned.

“Not really, but I will be once Leto stops being such hard work,” Anders sighed. “Ignore me - I’m hungry and dehydrated, and I need to sit somewhere quiet for a bit and cool off. Apart from my feet, obviously.”

“Do you want me to leave you all to rest more and I can return after dinner? I already had Zevran throw up after me teleporting him back with a hangover, I’m sure you don’t want to see what it's like Anders,” Fenris offered.

Zevran chuckled. “He had already been drinking when you brought him, and I think he had not eaten. And then we drank that bottle of brandy between us. I think he had rather a more sore head than me, eh?”

“Not keen on throwing up,” Anders nodded. “In fact... if people don’t mind, I think I’m going to drink a lot of water then sleep this off.”

“That would be a good idea,” nodded Dorian. “Leto would be frantic with worry for you if you were to be ill now.”

“I’m sure he would be in even more of a charming fellow than he is already,” Fenris quipped. 

“I’m sure,” said Dorian drily.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” said Zevran warningly.

“Ugh - Dumat, alright, _fine_ ,” groused Dorian. “First Anders, now you - yes, fine, whatever; I shall attempt to be civilised and allow him to attempt to explain himself to me! I think you are being far too forgiving - and I warn you I shall be watching him like a hawk when we return, for I shan’t allow him to treat anyone like this ever again.”

“If you must both continue arguing about it, please do it quietly?” moaned Anders as he stretched out on one of the other beds and buried his face against the pillow. “Just pay me no mind if I ramble about cute little dragons, OK?”

Both Zevran and Dorian blinked at him in bemusement, but already he was faintly snoring softly.

 

**

Zevran was still deep asleep when Fenris returned. Anders was sitting in his favourite chair, running his fingers absently across the broken spine of the book in his lap as he listened to Vic, who was pouring them a before-dinner drink chuckling about something Krem had told him regarding a recent patrol that had run across some Avvar who had tried to trade them five goats for his maul.

“Hi,” Fenris said wearily as he came in and dropped into a chair near them. “I left them all together and said I’d go back after dinner, their Anders wasn’t feeling well and needed a rest. Leto was still here sulking.”

His Anders glanced up from the book and looked worried. “What was wrong with Anders?” he asked. “He’s a Spirit Healer - we’re normally pretty healthy as a rule.”

“Headache, I didn’t want to chance teleporting him with it. Besides, they still needed to talk,” Fenris replied quietly. 

Anders couldn’t help the look he exchanged with Vic before he dropped his gaze back to the book, neither of them looking towards the sleeping area.

“Fenris,” said Anders as he held up his book. “You don’t know what happened to my book, do you? It was on the floor by the window. I can’t think why anyone would have damaged one of my books - and _The Gryphon and the Hummingbird_ is one of my favourites; it’s not easy getting books of Anderfels poetry these days.”

Fenris looked down guiltily and nodded yes. “It was me, I’m sorry Anders. I was ...angry and pitched it across the room. I will take it to the library and see if they can rebind it for you.” 

Anders stared at him. “But... why would you do that with one of my books, Fenris?” he exclaimed, hurt. 

“I… I was upset and just threw it, I’m sorry. I was frustrated and ...forgive me Anders?” he asked as he gave him puppy eyes. 

Anders smoothed the cover with his fingers as he stared down at it. “I... yes, I... I forgive you, just....” He looked up at Fenris, cradling the book to his chest. “Please don’t damage my books, Fen. There’s not a lot of my things I really treasure that much apart from my daughter and you three, but my books mean a lot to me.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll get it fixed!” Fenris exclaimed as he reached for the book. “I’ll go to the library right now.” 

“Fen, just... the book binder will be off duty right now,” said Anders with a shrug. “It can wait until tomorrow, truly.” He sighed. “Someone ought to wake Zevran. It’s not like him to sleep all day like this.” He glanced to Fenris. “What time did you bring him back, love?”

“After lunch, he was hung over after talking to the other Zevran,” Fenris said emphasizing talking like he was eating something disgusting. “He also took some elf root and crawled into bed, however I thought he would be awake by now.” 

“Did you fight again?” Vic asked quietly.

“Oh Andraste’s tits, I hope not,” groaned Anders. “Fenris, please go wake him - and be gentle.”

“No, we didn’t fight again. I was incredibly restrained Invictus,” Fenris said before heading into the sleeping area, where Fenris found him still asleep in the same position he left him in. He draped the towel over his ass before shaking his shoulder and jumping back. 

“You’ve slept the day away, time for dinner,” he called out.

Zevran turned his head slightly and opened his eyes. “ _Carissimi_?” he murmured drowsily, his voice still tired. He slowly rolled onto his side and rubbed his eyes with one hand.

“You’ve slept all day, Anders wanted me to wake you for dinner,” Fenris said, ignoring the pang he felt in his chest at the pet name. “I’ll get you clothes if you need them, or tell me where they are.”

The Antivan sat up and gestured at the window seat to the right of the bed. “In there,” he replied. “There should be some of my clothes.” He glanced out the window at the sunset sky. “The others, they are both here?”

“Yes, they were here when I returned,” Fenris said as he got clothes for the Antivan and set them next to him before heading back to the others. “I’ll request dinner be sent up to us.” 

He was oblivious to the look Zevran gave him as he walked away; Zevran shook his head and threw the towel aside before dressing.

He joined the others around the fireplace, leaning against the mantelpiece as he glanced around at the others. Anders glanced up at him.

“Feeling better after sleeping?” he asked. The Antivan smiled ruefully.

“It has been years since I was hungover, no?” he chuckled.

“Zev... did you try to drink yourself under the table?” the mage chided him with a grin. Zevran merely grinned at him, and Anders laughed. “And was that before or after you bedded yourself?”

“Before, during and after,” Zevran confessed. 

“And?”

“I am more myself,” shrugged the elf. 

Anders nodded. “Thought you might be,” he replied. “So you reassured yourself then?”

“In all meanings of that sense,” Zevran nodded. “Yes. This soul-searching stuff... it is exhausting, no? I do not think I care to do it too much. The other me... I think he felt the same need, too. We both needed to know we had not changed so much. Sometimes a man needs to look in a mirror to learn who he really is, no?”

Anders nodded. “I know what you mean,” he answered. “I take it he was worried how much of what happened was his own desires and how much was the blood magic, then?”

Zevran nodded, looking down for a minute. “He had been afraid that what had happened was because he had craved it. And yes, there was a little of that darkness in both of us... but not as much as he had feared.” 

“So...you slept with your mirror self and didn’t ask us?” Vic asked quietly as he glanced at the two men. “And you’re just blithely discussing it like one of you is talking about what to have for dinner, really?” he asked as he glanced briefly at Fenris to see the hurt on the elven warrior’s face before he turned to face the fireplace, ice forming around his wrist for a moment before it melted away. 

“Vic, this isn’t like Zevran going to someone else. This was _himself_ ,” Anders pointed out. “And you _saw_ how he hadn’t been himself. This was him healing. They’re the same person, Vic - far more so than I was with Arden’s Anders, or with Leto’s Anders. This was something they both needed, for their own sanity. If you want to blame anyone, then blame me; I knew they needed it, and I was the one who told him they should talk.”

“Talk, not fuck Anders,” Vic replied as he glared at the blond mage. “I think after all we’ve been through, especially after as much as Zevran has made a big deal out of asking and not keeping secrets, you too… you didn’t think this would be a problem? If not for you, then maybe me or Fenris?” he cut himself off before he could get a good rant going, and luckily for them, there was a knock at the door with a tray for them; something to hold them until a hot meal could be sent.

“It was no more a fuck than it would have been with his own hand, Vic,” said Anders fiercely as he rose to his feet and glared at the other mage. “Nor more than it is when Fenris plays with that marble toy he’s so fond of.” He glanced to Zevran, and they both moved to the table.

Fenris remained where he was, flushed red in anger and embarrassment. He felt fire trying to come to his hand but he tamped down on it, barely. Instead he sat before the fireplace, angry and hurt at Anders’ dig.

Invictus drew back at Anders’ words, unsurprised at the other man’s vehement defence of the Antivan. He went to the window instead before he said something he’d regret. He glanced at Fenris but didn’t think the elf wanted company or anyone at his side at the moment. Instead he seethed as he sat there.

Anders put together plates of food for himself and Zevran, and they sat at the table, Anders deliberately sitting with his back to the others. Zevran sat beside him, where he could see all three men, his expression troubled as he glanced up frequently at the mage. Anders sat stiff backed, his own anger palpable. 

Invictus came over eventually and made a plate, but didn’t speak to the others; he was angry but figured saying nothing was better than another fight that could end their fragile relationship. He glanced at Zevran and nodded at Anders briefly but otherwise ate quickly and quietly. 

Fenris remained where he was, opting for silence as well. He’d already had his say about it; but Anders’ remarks stung when he hadn’t even done anything. 

“I had already spoken to Fenris,” said Zevran quietly. “He was aware. I told him when he returned to bring me back here. I stated my reasons; I can do no more than that, _mi cuore_ ,” he said quietly. “I know why I did it; all of it. I cannot force anyone to see or understand it beyond what I have already said. I feel more at peace with who I am now; after all that has happened, I remain Zevran Arainai. In all worlds. We will not see each other again, nor do we wish to; my reflection in a looking glass and my own hand -” he raised an eyebrow at Anders, and then at Invictus, “- will suffice for that, no? So. There is an end of it upon my part, and there should be an end upon yours too, _mi cuore_.”

“But -” began Anders; Zevran raised both eyebrows at him, and the blond mage fell silent.

“As you wish Zevran, I will say nothing further,” Invictus said before making a plate to set next to Fenris in case the elf was too embarrassed to join them at the table. He gave them both a long glance before retiring to one of the chairs near the fireplace and resuming his reading from before. 

Fenris remained where he was, moving only to push the plate away from him. He had to go get the others soon, and he hoped he could be left alone until then. 

The Antivan leaned forward to rest his forehead against his hands with a pained wince.

“Zev, a hangover shouldn’t be lasting this long,” said Anders quietly. 

“It has been an exhausting day in many ways,” said the elf, his voice a little faint. “I shall be heartily glad when we can leave Skyhold.”

Invictus agreed but said nothing, he pretended to be deeply invested in his book. He did notice when Fenris got up and got his weapon. “Fen?” 

“I told them I’d be back for them after dinner. Don’t wait up for me,” Fenris said as he gathered up his things. 

“You should eat something before you go, you’ve been ferrying people around a lot and not eating much that I’ve seen. I don’t want you to wear yourself out,”Vic said as he set the book aside and tried to go to the elf.

“I’ll be fine, just fine Vic. I might as well be of some use around here. If I’m hungry, I’ll eat when I’m back, it's not like it matters anyway. I won’t be long but I think I’ll sleep when I get back,” Fenris said as he brushed Invictus away and set off to gather their other selves.

Anders rose and stacked his and Zevran’s empty plates on the tray, then they both headed over to the sleeping area.

“Lie down, Zev, and let me do something about that headache?” Anders said quietly. “I hope this isn’t a relapse of the lyrium addiction again.”

“It is just tiredness after drinking too much, and I had not eaten,” Zevran replied. He stripped off his clothes as he reached the bed, then slipped between the covers, laying himself down on the edge of the bed nearest the window.

Anders undressed then slipped into bed behind the elf. He drew Zevran into his arms, cradling him close as he pressed a hand gently to the Antivan’s forehead to channel healing there.

Zevran gave a pained groan then fell silent as the mage let the healing magic flow. As the pain slowly subsided, the elf relaxed in Anders’ arms until finally he was limp, sleeping peacefully in Anders’ embrace. The blond mage stared down into his sleeping face for a while, then quietly pressed a quiet, chaste kiss to Zevran’s forehead then laid him down carefully.

He waited a little while longer, to be certain Zevran was sleeping deeply, then rose from the bed again to slip on his over-robe, belting it closed before he moved to the other window. Picking up the broken book, he sat in the window, tucking his feet up beneath him as he smoothed the cover sadly, then sighed quietly and held the book pressed against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

Vic wanted to give him a sarcastic reply but he curbed himself. “I think you owe an apology to Fenris; after all he’d done nothing, and that remark was uncalled for,” Invictus said instead as he flipped through his book. 

“He’s been ignoring or avoiding Zevran, even before this,” replied Anders. 

“That’s not what I was talking about, I was talking about your comment when he hadn't even said anything about Zevran sleeping with himself,” Vic replied as he continued to thumb through the book. “If this is going to be a back and forth with you defending Zevran and Zevran defending you against us, tell me now Anders. I thought we’d made progress, but tonight makes me wonder. I backed off after Zevran asked me to. I’m not happy about it, but it's done now. However, if this marriage is now you and Zevran against me and Fenris, just tell me.” Vic finally looked at him, he wasn’t angry or upset or even shouting. Invictus sounded tired. 

Anders stared out at the evening sky unhappily. “It’s not a rivalry thing, Vic,” he replied. 

“It seemed like it then. I want this marriage to work, but every day there is still something going on between us. Fenris is unhappy because we wouldn’t go back to the games we played. I’m not thrilled Zevran slept with his other self without so much as a by your leave considering how much both of you railed at Fenris for his acts while over there. We all swore, no more secrets or half truths. Then you admit you encouraged him to do it. If he’d said something I would not have cared, Void knows I’m in no position to say no, but you turned your back on us Anders. I want this to work, I even left Fenris to work things out on his own after the comments about how I support him to a fault, but tonight almost pushed me to my limit. My head hurts after the day we’ve had, again. If you want me there, I’m going to lie down, ” Vic said as he set his book aside and rose, pausing to see if he was wanted.

“I turned my back because I was so angry I was in tears,” said Anders, subdued. “And I didn’t want you to see that. Either of you. I didn’t _know_ Zevran was going to go so far as to be physical with his other self, but I knew there was always that possibility - and Zevran has always had a slightly different attitude to sex to any of us. This was something I just felt I needed to trust Zevran to work through in the way that worked best for him to heal finally - mentally as well as physically.”

He looked up at Vic. “I was afraid for him, Vic. I know he is already thinking of going back to assassin’s work... and I was afraid that if he doesn’t heal, then... he might feel there is little enough left of himself to lose.”

“I see… so he doesn’t tell either of us he’s thinking of going back to that work, but he tells _you_. I can’t react based on things I don’t know, Anders. Maybe I could have talked to him about it, convince him he is more than a weapon; but since you two are not talking to us I can’t help him heal either. Any other things neither of you are telling us? This marriage can’t get better if you two are not communicating with Fenris and I,” Vic said tiredly, upset that there were more things they didn’t know. He didn’t want to find out Zevran was thinking of taking up the mantle of a killer again that way that was for sure. 

“Makers’ breath, Vic, _no_ , he doesn’t tell me about it!” exclaimed Anders. “I have eyes, though, and I can see when he’s going back through all the tools of his trade - the signs are there! He’s constantly sharpening his blades, surely you’ve noticed he’s jumpier of late - always in the window, looking out over the courtyard? This climbing all over the Rookery and other high places? And I found some of my reagents missing this morning. When was the last time he felt the need to brew poisons again, Vic?”

“I haven’t seen him brewing anything and he’s always toyed with knives without a care in the world. If you’ve noticed this, why did it take all this for you to tell me? I’m married to him too, even though he acts like I’m a fourth wheel half the time. But I do care about Zevran, and you aren’t the only one who might worry about this so why didn’t you say anything before?” Vic asked. 

“Because I thought I was being paranoid,” said Anders miserably. “But when I healed him just now, I realised why he’s had a headache all day. He’s rehabituating his body to poisons again, Vic.” He looked at the other mage. “That’s why I’m telling you, I only just finally worked out what he was doing for certain - I had my suspicions, but I thought it was just my own fears and paranoia getting to me! But there’s deathroot in his body. Not enough to threaten his health - but enough to give him symptoms, particularly when coupled with brandy.”

“Then we’ll talk to him when he wakes up. Anything else you haven’t told me or Fenris?” Vic asked tiredly. 

“No!” exclaimed Anders.

“Very well, let’s just talk about this tomorrow. Or when Fenris comes back, if he does after that,” Vic said before he rubbed at his eyes. “Now do you mind if I sleep in the bed or would you rather I didn't?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t mind,” said Anders in a small voice. “I... I think I need to rest myself.”

He rose from his seat, setting the book down carefully before moving back to the sleeping area. Tugging the robe off once more, he spooned up behind Zevran, burying his face in the Antivan’s hair as Zevran slept on. Biting his lip, he blinked back tears then closed his eyes. 

Invictus sighed as he fell asleep, alone on the other side of the bed, wishing he’d just said no when it looked like things were going to end. That was preferable to being alone in their bed, though he was with them.

Anders sniffed softly and tried to relax himself for sleep, aware of Invictus on the other side of the bed. Though he’d been honest with Invictus, he didn’t feel that it had really changed matters. He found himself wondering if this was their new normal now, and felt his throat closing up.

Vic found he couldn't sleep though he was exhausted and tossed for a while, unable to drift off being left alone in the large bed. He hadn’t meant to let his emotions run wild, but he couldn’t hold back the sobs that came to him as he felt so alone. 

Hating himself even as he did it, feeling guilty yet exhausted; Anders finally pressed a hand to his own forehead and let trickle the little touch of mana that would draw a wisp to himself from the Fade. He embraced the darkness of a dreamless sleep with relief, and hoped he would sleep through until morning.

At the feel of Anders’ magic, and seeing the other man asleep. Invictus got up and sent himself back to Nevarra. If the other mage would rather sleep than talk to him, or notice his tears, he’d leave well enough alone. He didn’t bother with a note; he figured he’d come back for his things a final time before remaining in their wrecked home for good. Vic settled in Fenris’ office for the night, wishing the elf was with him.


	37. Chapter 37

Anders woke to the feeling of a hand gently stroking his cheek.

“ _Mi cuore_? Are you awake?” murmured Zevran softly.

Anders opened his eyes to find the Antivan leaning over him, tracing his fingers down his cheek as the elf stared intently at him.

“Zevran?” Anders yawned. “What time is it?”

“A few minutes after the ninth bell,” shrugged the Antivan. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t wish to waken you - but Invictus is gone, and Fenris is upon the floor, and I cannot rouse him.”

Anders sat up, memory of the argument with the other mage coming back to him. “So, he’s gone, then?” he sighed. “And what do you mean, Fenris is on the floor?”

“There, see?” gestured Zevran towards the main room. Anders glanced, then groaned. 

“Damned fool elf - Vic _told_ him to eat something, but no; Fenris always does whatever Fenris damned well feels like! Well, you can’t lift him, and I certainly can’t. He’ll have to stay there until he wakes up, and it’ll serve him right for being obstinate. If he hasn’t woken up by the time we go, then I’ll have a stretcher sent and he can damned well just wake up in his own time in the infirmary.”

“Go?” echoed Zevran. “Where are we going?” he asked as Anders rose from the bed to dress.

“The College, first; I want to check on Parcival and make sure he’s taken no lasting harm. Then I want to talk to Varania and Wynne. And then after that I need to talk to Krem and see if I can persuade him to let us have a couple of horses, or at least a pack pony.”

Zevran rose from the bed, hastily dressing. “Anders, what is wrong? What has happened? We are leaving? But - what of Fenris, Invictus?”

Anders sighed and glanced back to him. “It’s not working, Zev. I should have seen it. We should have just called it a day, right back when we had the fight and I took off my rings; I did none of us any favours by insisting on that promise. Why waste a year, love? Look at how we’ve been constantly fighting even since then! I’m tired, Zev. It’s not working.”

Zevran held his hands out to the mage, and Anders sighed and stepped into his arms, holding the elf close.

“I go where you go, my heart,” said Zevran. “I gave my word. But... are you certain that all is finished? Can we not talk?”

Anders shrugged. “What’s there to talk about, Zev? Vic isn’t here, and Fen picks fights when he can’t get his own way - look at that whole bullshit thing we had just because he wanted to play games with rope and you didn’t? Because he couldn’t get what _he_ wanted, he sulked. And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of his anger, his rants, his sulking and - and Maker, just _look_ at him; the bastard won’t even bloody take care of himself because he’d sooner bloody _martyr_ himself and make us all feel bad than actually eat something!”

“You are angry, _mi cuore_ ,” said Zevran quietly. “This is not merely Fenris not eating or Invictus being gone when you awaken. What is wrong?”

“I’m tired of the fighting, Zev,” Anders choked. “And - and I’m tired of _crying_ , and of nothing I do ever being enough or right. And I just want to go to Denerim and start over with the one person who doesn’t make me feel like I’m a constant disappointment, Zev!”

Zevran held Anders close. “Come. You have not eaten. We shall eat, and then we shall go speak with Parcival, and Wynne, and Varania and Krem, hmm?”

“We can’t leave Fenris on the floor,” Anders sniffed.

“But we cannot lift him,” pointed out Zevran.

Anders sighed and went to the bed. He fetched a blanket and a pillow; between them, although they couldn’t move him from the floor, Anders and Zevran were at least able to get him rolled onto a blanket with a pillow for his head. Anders draped him with another blanket then dropped down into a seat at the smaller table near the window, as Zevran went to the door to call for a tray.

Invictus had woken up with a sense of dread about returning, but it was what it was. Anders didn’t seem to want to work on things after making them all swear an oath. He opened a portal to find Fenris asleep on the floor, and the other two men sitting quietly. He let it close behind him, halting as he took in how they looked. He went over to Fenris and tapped the elf’s face, smacked him a little harder but got no response. “I told you to eat something and rest you idiot,” he muttered. 

Anders glanced over at him, but said nothing. Zevran reached for Anders’ hand, and the mage took it as the Antivan squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

Vic stood up and glanced at them. “Sleep well?” he asked warily before helping himself to the tray. Even if Fenris was going to be stupid and not care for himself, he wasn’t going to go that same route.

“Well enough,” shrugged Zevran as he poured himself another cup of coffee. Anders took back his hand and poked his oatmeal with little real appetite.

“I hope whatever headache or hangover you have is gone now?” Vic said as he made himself a large bowl of oatmeal and coffee to ease the headache that still lingered.

“I am fine, thank you,” replied Zevran courteously as he sipped his black coffee. “The rest was enough, once I was able to sleep.”

“Good to hear it, now if I could shake my own damn headache,” Vic muttered as he rubbed at his eyes. “And you, Anders, you sleep alright?” he asked quietly.

“As well as I ever do,” Anders replied, not looking up from his oatmeal, his voice tight and quiet. 

“I see, well I hope you can get more rest today,” Vic said as he shoved his bowl aside and sat back with his coffee. “Any plans for today?”

“We are going to the College after breakfast,” replied Zevran. “Anders wished to check on Parcival and then speak to our daughter.”

“I see.” Vic raised an eyebrow at the our daughter comment. He didn’t say it, but that was just another reminder of how they’d divided. Zevran certainly didn’t act as if Pin or Cal was a child of his heart. Instead he sipped his coffee, wondering if the elephant in the room would be spoken of.

“I’m going to ask Wynne to take care of my books until I can send for them,” said Anders quietly. “And Varania should have some idea of when the others can be sent back. Need to talk to Krem about horses or a pack horse or something.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Vic asked as he sat up and stared at Anders. “You say you’re leaving Anders and I’ll open you a portal right fucking now so you can go. Don’t you dare do this again, after making us swear an oath. You’d leave Fenris unconscious on the floor as well? That’s low, even for you,” he said, his voice low with anger.

“Low?” exclaimed Anders, finally looking up at Vic, his eyes flashing in anger. “You _dare_ talk to me of _low_ , when you left without even a note? When you just couldn’t stop digging at me last night even after I apologised! You _knew_ the plan was for Denerim after the others have gone - _one_ of us has to do something about that, and after the way you went on last night it was pretty bloody obvious you already think this marriage is over - don’t you dare talk to me of _low_ , Invictus Endrin Hawke, because I am at my limit and I’ve had enough!”

He threw down his spoon and rose to his feet, striding away to the sleeping area where he yanked the curtain free of its ties and let it swing closed behind him; he stood staring out of the window, his back to the room as he fought to calm his temper.

Zevran calmly poured another cup of coffee for himself as he finished the pastry on his plate.

“Not running after him? It’s clear where he stands in this, Zevran, and you always say where he goes, you go,” Vic said tersely, as he sat trying to get his rings off, frustrated at finding them unwilling to budge. “Venhedis, of _course_ they won’t come off now that _he’s_ decided its over,” he huffed. “After making us swear a damned oath, all of that twice he’s declared he’s done. Dumat take me,” he muttered angrily.

“Of course I will go with him,” shrugged Zevran in far too calm and reasonable a tone of voice. “But whether you and Fenris decide to come with us is entirely up to you. If you assume that he would merely run away and drag me off with him... well, I suppose we shall find a smaller house then, and I shall see what work I can find to support him.” He sipped his coffee. “Or perhaps I mistake the intent of your comments, in which case perhaps we should actually discuss this instead of goading Anders.”

“Hard to talk when someone declares the marriage over and storms out,” Vic said, his voice hitching as fought to stay calm. “Fenris is unconscious in case neither of you noticed, or cared. I’m sure he’ll be happy to come around and find you two run off together just like he feared.” 

Zevran glanced out of the window. “You notice there is a pillow under his head, yes? The last time I tried to lift a man of Fenris’ size, I seriously injured myself even before Aeolus struck me. And Anders cannot lift him. I tried for over an hour to wake Fenris before I finally woke Anders just after the ninth bell. And Anders was angry, but I know _mi cuore_ ; he was letting his anger mask his worry. We would not have left him alone; if he did not wake soon, we would have sent for a stretcher to take him to the infirmary. But of course, we must be blind not to see him, hmm? And of course you choose to think the worst of us, Invictus.”

“Like Anders did just now, or last night?” Vic said tiredly, trying to keep himself together and not letting his frustration show by way of flame or tears, or both. “How was I to know you tried to wake him. And his anger sure doesn’t seem like worry from here. If Anders comes out I will speak but I fear he’s already made his decision, Fenris and I be damned.” He covered his face as he slumped and tried to quell his headache, made worse by the argument.

“Anders is still in the room,” pointed out Zevran calmly. “He is merely trying to calm himself. And you did not know, because you did not ask. And you are also assuming he has made his decision without waiting for him to actually speak. Instead you say you will open a portal - how do you think that sounded, Invictus? It sounded as though you proposed to push him out - to toss him out just like that. So. Who is it who is making up their mind then, Invictus? You are the one trying to remove your rings - not I, and certainly not Anders.” He finished the last of his coffee. “Hmm, this is Rivaini coffee I think.” 

“He said he was going, he said he would have Wynne keep his books for him. What else does that mean? He’s going to go now, instead of waiting to see if they can go home? Seems pretty clear to me Zevran,” Vic said quietly, trying to not yell. He just sounded defeated. “I left after he went straight to you, again cuddled up to you and left me alone, again. It's hard not to feel unwanted with that, even after I cried, to just be left to the side, once more Zevran. I left rather than feel unwanted, shoved aside after he claimed there was no rivalry, but his actions put that to a lie.” Vic gave up trying to get his rings off and fell quiet, done in.

Zevran shrugged. “The books must be taken care of, no? And preparations must be made. That does not mean we intended to set out today. And I have no idea what may have happened after I passed out.” 

“I told you what happened...I didn’t think you knew what happened after you were out,” Vic said tiredly, just wanting to stop talking. “I’ll get a healer for Fenris, this isn't normal even if he were just exhausted from teleporting a lot. Who knows if this is because of his fall, or anything else that’s happened,” he added, though he didn’t move to get up, hoping he didn’t fall over himself.

Zevran rose and set the cups and empty coffee pot on the tray then carried it to the door. He gestured to a passing messenger, handing them the tray then beckoning the messenger to the door, gesturing to Fenris as he spoke softly to the woman before she departed. Then he crossed to his usual window seat, opening the windows to let in fresh air before straddling the sill to take out several blades, laying them before him before picking one up to start sharpening it.

Invictus moved to sit with Fenris, taking his hand and holding it as he gave in to the despair he’d been feeling since waking up, wishing he’d just given up once more when Anders wanted things to end. He was miserable and felt more alone than he had in a long time. He just sat there holding the elf’s hand as he waited for him to wake up.

There was a knock at the door; Zevran rose and let in two healers who beckoned in a pair of guards carrying a stretcher. Anders turned and glanced over his shoulder with a look of worry as they lifted Fenris onto the stretcher then carried him from the room. He stared at Invictus for a moment before he turned back to stare out the window, wrapping his arms around himself.

Zevran returned to the window, taking up his seat once more, one foot dangling down out of the window as he took up a knife and his whetstone again.

Invictus gave them both a disappointed look before following the stretcher down to the infirmary. Not even going with them was a pretty clear way to show how words meant nothing to them. He was quiet as the elf was put into a private room, and he kept back as they examined him. He kept biting his nails as he watched and wondered just what was wrong with his love. 

**

Zevran waited until the door had closed behind Invictus, then swiftly sheathed and stowed his daggers and blades before moving to Anders’ side. “Anders?”

“Zev -” The mage reached for him with a worried expression.

“Come, _mi cuore_ ,” said the Antivan. “The healers will tell you more than they will Invictus. You know the questions to ask, yes? Come. Let Invictus sit with Fenris. We shall go direct to the healers, and you will do what you can for him there, yes?”

Anders nodded, wordlessly, and let the elf hurry him from the room.

**  
Vic came over once the healers had gone. “What is it?”

“We’re not sure actually. It seems he has magic but his mana hasn’t changed in all the time we checked him. Its like he’s connected directly to the Fade all the time rather than when he’s asleep like other mages. There also signs he took a long fall. But that can’t be, because no one should have survived it, especially if he’s the same elf people saw take a tumble out of a window the other day. He hasn’t eaten or had water either, so it seems to have combined in a stress reaction we’ve never seen before; even in a mage whose just found their powers.” The healer said as she looked at the elf then back to Invictus.

“When will he wake up?” Vic asked quietly as he took the white haired elf’s hand in his. 

“We’re uncertain. We’ve asked First Enchanter Parcival to come in and examine him as soon as he can. Feel free to stay with him; if he wakes on his own I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. Ring the bell if you need anything messere.” She stepped away to let Invictus sit vigil with the elf.

“Don't leave me love, please.” Vic asked as he bowed his head and waited for him to open his eyes. “I can’t do this without you Fenris, just open your eyes love, please.” He leaned back in the chair and let his eyes close as he held his husband’s hand, scared and alone in the far too quiet room.

**

“But... what do you mean, we can’t see him? He’s our husband!” exclaimed Anders as he stared at the implacable healer.

“Don’t be ridiculous - three men married to one man?” scoffed the healer. “His husband is already with him. You’ll have to wait outside.”

“But - wait, no, you have to let me see him!” cried Anders, louder; they were starting to draw attention now.

“Ser, I’ll have to ask you to leave, or we’ll call the guards.”

“But - no, this is wrong, you have to let me see him!” Anders pushed forward, trying to get past the officious healer. “You can’t -”

“ _Mi cuore_ -”

“They have to let us in, Zevran, they _have_ to!” cried Anders.

The healer narrowed his eyes. “Leave. Now.”

Anders stared despairingly down the hallway past the man. Somewhere in there were Invictus and Fenris - and he and Zevran were stuck out here. 

He eyed the healer angrily. “Now, you see here -”

Zevran groaned. “Anders....”

**

Vic had fallen asleep, his hand still gripping Fenris’ lax one even in slumber. He opened his eyes, confused at first but remembering where he was. “How long did I sleep?” he muttered as he sat up and saw Fenris still motionless aside from the rise and fall of his chest. “Dammit why did this happen now?” he said before calling up light and wondering if he should get something to eat and take a bath before returning to sit vigil with the elf since neither Zevran or Anders had shown up.

He could hear voices outside the door; two healers talking on their way down the hallway.

“... and he was making such a fuss that the guards had to be called,” said one healer.

“What about the elf?” asked his female companion.

“Still there, pacing around but behaving himself; honestly though - did they really think....” Their voices faded as they carried on past the door towards the junction at the end, the hallway returning to silence after they’d turned the corner.

Invictus frowned as he headed down the hall, unsure what they were talking about until he spotted Zevran. “You’re here,” he said in surprise.

Zevran was pacing restlessly, his face full of worry; he glanced up at Invictus’ voice and halted.

“I have been here for three hours,” he replied. “We both followed you, but they would not allow Anders and I in. They did not believe us when Anders told them that we are Fenris’ husbands too; they insisted that his husband was with him and that we must wait outside.” He lowered his gaze for a moment. “Anders... did not take it well. They called the guards. He bade me wait here.”

“I am surprised he was here,” Vic said quietly. “I need a bath and something to eat, he’s still unconscious and if Parcival came it was while I fell asleep. Do you wish to sit with Fenris while I do that?” he asked.

“I do not think Parcival would have come; he has been ill,” replied Zevran. “But then, I would not have seen him; they have not allowed me past this room. I am very worried for Anders - but yes, I would like to see Fenris. Have they said what is wrong with him?” The elf looked restless, unhappy and worried.

“A lot of factors but the healer said they would get Parcival or a senior healer to look at him as well. I am no healer, but I guess everything was too much for him and his body just forced him down.” Vic wanted to snap at the elf, ask why he was bothering to visit when he wanted to go to Anders anyway but instead he nodded towards the room he’d left. “Come with me, they can’t complain if you are with me.”

“Thank you,” Zevran murmured quietly.

The healer behind the desk glanced up as they passed her; she frowned at Zevran, but said nothing.

As they entered Fenris’ room, Zevran moved to the foot of the bed and stared at the other elf, his eyes dark with concern. “He... has not stirred?” he asked, hesitant.

“No, I said that he hasn’t,” Vic said tersely, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

Zevran reached for one of the chairs and drew it up close by the side of the bed, never taking his eyes from Fenris’ face as he sat. He fiddled restlessly with a stray thread upon the cuff of his sleeve without thinking, otherwise unmoving.

“May I... stay?” he asked, his voice hushed.

“If you want, though I’m surprised you’re not with Anders,” Vic said quietly before turning to go. “I’ll instruct them that you and Anders are allowed into see him, if you wanted.” 

“They took Anders away,” said Zevran bleakly. “But he bade me to stay. I did not know what to do for the best.”

“Still didn’t expect you here. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Vic said before heading off for their rooms.

Zevran winced slightly at the repeated insistence that Vic hadn’t expected either of them to follow, but said nothing. He continued to watch Fenris’ face for a while, then bowed his head.

He was deathly worried for Anders. He knew the blond mage had never tolerated imprisonment well; he’d been torn badly between wanting to follow Anders and make sure he was alright, and waiting there outside the infirmary for news of Fenris, as Anders had told him to. He was worried for Fenris. He was concerned about the hostility from Invictus - but at this point, how the mage felt about either he or Anders was very much the least of his worries.

He stared at the floor and gave a low sigh. In lieu of any other more certain course of action, he would wait and watch. The elf might well order him to leave once he woke, for all Zevran knew - but at least then he would have something to tell Anders. So he sat, and he waited.

**

Fenris felt strange, like he’d gotten a long nap he’d needed but still felt exhausted. He opened his eyes to a strange ceiling, a soft bed and a strange room. He remembered feeling too warm, flushed and achy before he hit the ground in their rooms. He couldn’t recall if he’d called out as he fell but he was clearly somewhere else from where he’d fallen out. The white haired elf turned his head, surprised to see Zevran sitting there watching him.

The moment Fenris opened his eyes, a hopeful look dawned in the Antivan’s eyes before he lowered his gaze.

“I am glad to see you awaken,” he said quietly. “We have been worried for you. Invictus should return shortly.”

“What happened, where am I?” Fenris asked as he tried to sit up. He was surprised at the “we” comment but let it lie for the moment.

Zevran lifted his head slightly. “You are in the infirmary. We are not certain what happened; I found you unconscious upon the floor a little after dawn but could not wake you; none of us could. I sent for the healers when we could not rouse you. Invictus accompanied you here; they would not let Anders and I follow. The healers are not certain what is wrong; it may be some peculiar form of exhaustion. You did not eat or rest, and you teleported several times and taking more than one person.” He sighed softly. “And I was one of those people. I have contributed to this, and I am sorry.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the other elf but kept quiet. “Hopefully they can have me let out soon, I am still tired but awake.” He had managed to sit up with his back against the pillows but he wasn’t going anywhere on his own yet. 

“You have lain here for almost six hours,” replied Zevran. He was still fiddling with the loose thread upon his sleeve, unaware he was doing so, his eyes still downcast.

“I see… I wonder how long I lay there before you found me,” he said quietly, before leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. 

“I do not know. You must have returned after we were all asleep, or we would have see your state sooner and sought help for you,” replied Zevran. He glanced towards the door as he heard a footstep outside, then dropped his gaze back to the floor as the footsteps passed on.

“Hmmm,” Fenris said as he pondered the elf. “You said Anders was not allowed in, I guess he had other things to do then?” Fenris asked bitterly.

Zevran lifted his head at that, his gaze meeting Fenris’ eye. “You could say that,” he said softly. “Talking to the guards perhaps. He was arrested when the healer would not allow us in to see you. He grew distressed and angry, and they took him away.”

“That’s surprising, when will they let him out?” Fenris asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” shrugged Zevran. “He told me to wait until we had news of you. They would not let me even send a message to Invictus; he found me pacing outside. Since he had not returned by the time Invictus brought me to you, I fear he is still imprisoned.”

“I’m sure they will let him out soon, or on your say so.” The unspoken _I’m sure you’ll run to him_ lay there unspoken, but Fenris refused to fight. “Can you let a healer know I’m awake? I’d like something to eat and water.”

Zevran rose to his feet; a water carafe and glasses had been left on a table just inside the door, and he fetched a glass of water for Fenris before glancing outside the door for a healer.

Fenris watched him as Zevran returned with water, taking it down quickly, and realizing how parched he was. He finished off the glass, and held it out. “Is there any more?” he asked quietly. 

Zevran merely nodded, silent, as he fetched the carafe and brought it to Fenris. He refilled his glass and stood by the bedside, offering more water as Fenris finished the second glass.

The warrior finished off a third glass before waving more off. “Aren’t you going to get Anders out?” he asked quietly, expecting Zevran to go now that he was awake.

“I will wait for Invictus to return - unless he has gone to secure his release,” Zevran shrugged. “Unless... you do not... wish me to stay?” An uncertain note crept into his voice.

“You may stay, I am just surprised to see you here at all. After all, you go where your _cuore_ goes,” Fenris replied quietly. 

Zevran closed his eyes briefly, with a pained expression. “Is it so hard to believe I can care for you both?” he asked, almost plaintively.

“Right now? Yes, Zevran. After the last few days, a week since my return? Definitely. When I said I don’t know what’s real between us anymore, it wasn’t just anger or hurt,” Fenris admitted.

Zevran fumbled to set the carafe down on the bedside table before he could drop it, then collapsed back down into the chair as he buried his face in his hands. He gave a soft groan of frustration.

“Very well,” he said quietly. “Then I shall leave you and Invictus in peace once he returns. I cannot force you to believe me, Fenris; I do still care for you, but if you think me a liar then there is nothing more I can say.”

“I did not call you a liar, I just said it's hard for me to believe you care for us both. Would you be here if Anders had not told you to stay? Tell me yes and I will believe you,” Fenris asked quietly.

Zevran lifted his head to gaze into Fenris’ eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. “Fenris... I _stayed_. Even though we both know how Anders will react to imprisonment... Fenris, I _stayed!_ What more can I say! I _love_ you, I have been worried sick for you - I have been sitting here by your side, and you have no idea how hard I tried to wake you!” Zevran stared at the other elf. “I have no more words, I.... Fenris....”

He bowed his head. “Do you... wish me to leave?” he asked in a small voice.

“No, I don’t want you to leave,” Fenris replied, even reaching for Zevran. “I believe you still care for me, that you do love me...no one can fake the way you are now.” He held a hand out to the elf, hoping he took it.

Zevran lifted his head slightly to stare at Fenris’ hand, then slowly, hesitantly he lifted his own hand to grasp it. “I love you, _carissimi_ ,” he whispered. “And you have no idea how much this hurts me.” He closed his eyes, feeling the sting of tears.

Fenris stared at him, unsure if he had it in him to return the pet name. “I know how it hurts, you made that clear when we last spoke alone. I love you too, and I wish I had not hurt you so,” he replied as he squeezed the other elf’s hand in his.

Zevran leaned forward upon the bed to rest his forehead on his free hand, clinging to Fenris’ hand as his breathing became ragged, fighting hard against the tears that threatened to choke him. “I want to trust you,” he murmured. “I want to trust that you will not hurt me again. I want to love you the way I did once....”

“I’ve given my word, my tears that I won’t. I haven’t had a chance to show through action yet,” Fenris said as his own breathing hitched and he tried to not fall to his own upset. “I want to not feel a jab in my heart every time I hear you reassure Anders you will go with him no matter what, because I did that to you. Hurt you so much that you feel unsafe now. All I can do is try, but that means you give me the chance to do so.” 

“I have broken my word to him to stay with you, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran, his voice finally cracking. “I have stayed, and I am torn so badly, I... Fenris, what can I do?”

“Go to him then,” Fenris replied as he looked away in an attempt to curb his jealousy. 

Zevran curled in upon himself, his shoulders beginning to shake as he took a gasping breath, unable to hold back the tears as he buried his face against the covers on the bed, sobbing almost silently.

Fenris lifted his other hand to stroke through the blond elf’s hair, slow and easy as he let him cry, and tried to keep from the terrible things that came to mind about crying over Anders from slipping out. Instead he just carded his fingers through Zevran’s hair and let him weep.

“Do not send me away... I beg of you,” Zevran managed to gasp, his voice muffled by the bed covers.

“I’m not sending you away but you asked what to do about your ...about Anders being alone. Stay if you like,” Fenris replied quietly. 

Zevran clung to Fenris’ hand as he gave himself up to his tears; as he finally found himself wrung out and empty, no more tears left to cry, his hand grew limp in Fenris’ grasp. Ennervated and numb, he remained still, at a loss for what to do. His breathing grew slowly steadier as he closed his eyes, feeling his heart slow from the frantic pace of his anguish.

“There is space if you wish to lie down,” Fenris offered finally, unsure what to do since offering him to go to Anders got him a request not to be sent away so he was confused.

Zevran pondered it as he rested there, but remained where he was. The torrent of emotion had left him feeling exhausted and drained. He couldn’t remember when he’d ever been overwhelmed by emotion as much as he had been. The pain in his heart was now a dull ache.

“You’ll hurt if you sit hunched over that way. Come and lie down if you need to rest; I just hope they bring food soon,” Fenris said as he tried to tug the elf over to lie down. 

Zevran finally allowed himself to be tugged up onto the bed. His eyes closed, he let Fenris push and pull his body as he wished, then lay still. He had nothing left inside.

As Fenris stroked his hair, he drifted into a doze, barely half-aware of anything.

**

Anders sat alone in the cell, staring down at his hands as he murmured quietly to himself.

Invictus followed the guard, glad they let him talk them into giving Anders over to his custody. It had been a long way around but it wasn’t as if the other mage was dangerous, just an annoyance to the healers. He waited for them to fetch Anders at the desk, hopeful the mage wouldn’t fight with him on sight. 

Anders lifted his eyes briefly as two guards came to fetch him; he fell silent as they tugged him to his feet then marched him from the cell. He said nothing as they pulled him to a halt by the desk; his eyes remained downcast as they released him from the shackles then pushed him towards Invictus.

“Try and keep him out of trouble,” growled one of the guards. “We catch him making a nuisance of himself, it’ll be two days next time - and solitary at that, y’hear?”

Anders shivered slightly and moved a little closer to Invictus.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” Vic said as he gently prodded Anders to walk ahead of him, not speaking until they were clear of the cells and guards. “I’ll make sure you and Zevran can be admitted to see him, if you wish to do so before you see to your books and preparation to leave,” he said quietly, walking briskly towards the infirmary. 

“Vic....” murmured Anders as he followed, rubbing his slender wrists where the shackles had chafed the skin.

Vic halted and stared at him.

Anders lifted his head, and there was a look of misery on his face. He looked lost and forlorn. “I’m... sorry. About... about the fight. And... and everything.”

Vic continued to stare at the other mage, unsure if he actually believed his apology. “I see.”

Anders lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. “I... had a lot of time to think. On my own... back there, I mean.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the cells. “I... Vic... I want this to work, I just... I’m tired and... hurting, but... I....”

His shoulders slumped. “We all just seem to keep hurting each other and talking at cross purposes. I _do_ love you, and Fenris, and... the thought of going to Denerim without you, it’s... it’s killing me, Vic. I don’t know what to do - I just know I don’t want this to be the end, and I... I....” He choked back a sob.

“You seemed keen to start preparation to go without us,” Vic replied coolly. 

“No - no, I wasn’t!” exclaimed Anders, wide-eyed. “I was just going to sort out the prep for _all_ of us! I just needed to sort out my books first, because we can’t take them with us! But - I need to talk to Krem about sorting out horses, or at least pack horses for us all - Maker, Vic, I wasn’t going to just up and leave, I swear it!” There were tears in his eyes as he stared at Vic. 

“Alright...if you say so, Anders,” Vic replied, still staring at the blond mage skeptically. “If you’re going with me, let’s go. I’ve already been gone quite a while and I’m sure Zevran wants to be with you.” 

Anders nodded. “I’m sorry, I’ve been such a nuisance, and... I’m sorry, Vic,” he said quietly, lowering his head as he rubbed his eyes again. He swallowed hard and glanced up at Vic, his hair obscuring his face a little; he looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he hesitated then finally nodded as they moved on, the blond mage a couple of steps behind Vic.

Invictus headed back to the infirmary, making sure to let the healer know Anders was to be allowed in, if he wished. He turned to see if the mage was actually going to go in with him. 

Anders glanced up. “Can... can I come in with you?” he asked quietly. “I... I wasn’t sure if you’d want me there, but....” He glanced at the healer, then moved closer to Vic. Hesitantly, he reached out to trail fingers down Vic’s arm before stepping a little closer. “Vic... I....” He bit his lip.

“Yes, Anders?” Vic replied warily. 

Anders swallowed again, then lifted his head to meet Vic’s eyes. “Hold me? Please?” he whispered.

Silently, Invictus pulled him into his arms, while thinking of the irony of him asking for comfort after ignoring Vic the night before and ranting at him earlier that morning. 

Anders rested his head on Vic’s shoulder as he bit back tears. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Vic. You... you came for me and... and I was so scared you - you wouldn’t... Vic, I love you, I’m so sorry!” he said brokenly.

“Despite things, I wouldn’t leave you in a cell,” Vic replied quietly. He held Anders but felt empty as he did so. Something in him had broken, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but even in anger; he wouldn’t leave the other mage to his own hell of being locked away. 

“It would have served me right,” Anders whispered. “After all I’ve put you through....”

“Don’t start that,” Vic replied tersely before pulling away. “I ...come on let’s hope Fenris is awake.” 

Anders nodded and followed Vic as the other mage led the way back to Fenris’ room. He was quiet and withdrawn as they entered, hanging back a little; he wasn’t sure how Fenris might react to him, after the cool way Vic was treating him.

Zevran was asleep on the bed next to Fenris, half-curled around the white-haired elf. Anders glanced at him and frowned a little, wondering what had happened between him and Fenris. Perhaps the Antivan being in Fenris’ bed was a hopeful sign. He hesitantly darted a nervous glance at Fenris, wondering if he was going to be ordered out of the room again.

Fenris looked up at the sound of footsteps, giving Invictus a big grin. “ _Amatus_ , welcome back.” 

“That’s my line I think love,” Vic said as he took the elf’s hand in his and leaned in to kiss him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired, head hurts.. Heart hurts but they can’t heal that,” Fenris said quietly before catching sight of Anders. “Wonders never cease, he’s probably here for Zevran,” he said before leaning up to kiss Vic again.

Anders ducked his head so they wouldn’t see the tears he could feel welling up again. “No, I... I’m here for _you_ , Fenris, but... but I can go, if... if you don’t want me here.” He stood by the door, uncertain, his shoulders slumped.

Fenris looked up at him, that same blank stare he used when he needed to be calm. “If you’re here to visit me, go on and sit. If you’re here for your elf, he’s asleep.” 

Anders moved to the chair and sat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything.”

Fenris glanced at him, then at Invictus before leaning back to watch the blond. “Are you really? Or will there be another round of declaring this won’t work after you made us swear an oath to you?” he asked quietly. 

“I am,” Anders said dully. “I truly am sorry.”

“Then show me, the same way you all hold me to that show versus telling you I’m sorry standard? It applies to you too. I’m honestly surprised to see you after yesterday, same as I was surprised to see Zevran when I did wake up. They still don’t know what’s wrong with me, a healer hasn’t come since they brought food and ….” Fenris fell quiet, opting not to say the cruel things that had come to mind. “Just say I’m surprised, but glad you came ...both of you.” 

“You’re not the only one who’s surprised love,” Vic said from where he sat nearer to the bed.

“Vic… don’t. I’m still tired and could get some more rest, and if we fight again...I don’t want that on my mind before I dream.” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke,” said Anders quietly. “They wouldn’t let us in, and... and I’m afraid I made a bit of a scene.” He sighed. “Got myself arrested. Stupid of me, really. I’m sorry.”

“Well you’re out now,” Fenris said, resisting the urge to snap at him for the repeated apologies. Anders seemed to somehow pick up on his irritation however, as the mage flinched slightly before wrapping his arms around himself, hunching over slightly, ignoring the strands of hair that fell into his eyes.

He glanced at Zevran again, wondering what had happened to exhaust the Antivan to the point of sleeping. He looked wan and drained, dark shadows beneath his closed eyes, the dried traces of tears upon his face.

He wanted to reach for him. He’d spent six hours with nothing but his own thoughts for company, not sure which he should long for more - Zevran coming to get him out, or the Antivan staying for news of Fenris. He hadn’t dared hope that Fenris and Vic would let Zevran in, and as he sat there, a little lost in his own thoughts, he wondered what had happened and whether they had treated Zevran as they were treating him now. And he wanted to hold him, or at least touch him - and didn’t dare, for fear of what Fenris and Vic would say.

He’d told the truth; he _did_ want to make things work. But it was clear that neither Fenris nor Vic believed him, and it was breaking his heart.

Why was he doing this? In spite of their words, Anders couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that he was unwanted... that they didn’t trust him. They’d been surprised he and Zevran had come - they hadn’t expected it. And now Anders felt unwanted - as though he were an unwelcome guest who was intruding.

Fenris glanced at the blond and up to Vic before speaking. “Did they mistreat you? Do you need food or drink? Or do you wish to take Zevran back to the room?” 

Vic waited restlessly, a hand upon Fenris’ shoulder as he waited for the other mage’s reply. 

“They didn’t hurt me,” said Anders quietly, though he rubbed his wrists absently, thumbs pressing gently against the chafed skin. “They said if I did it again they’d put me in solitary for a couple of days. I... I’d like some water though.” His voice was low, subdued. His experience in the cell - manacled, alone, with only silence and nothing else to do but think obsessively over all that had happened and led him to that point - and with the prospect of being kept there until the following morning - had shaken him badly.

Vic poured him some water and gently touched Anders’ wrist to heal the light chafing he noticed. He wasn’t much of a healer but he could do that much. “Glad to hear they didn’t hurt you, we don’t need a fight on our hands with the guards over this. Do you need somewhere with light? Or I can pull the curtains in here.” 

Anders glanced to the window, then nodded. “Please,” he whispered.

Vic opened the curtains, taking time to tie them back so there was more light in the room. He glanced at where Zevran was sound asleep and wondered if it would wake the Antivan. 

“I’m asking for a tray to be sent, I’m starved. Do you want anything Anders?” Vic asked quietly. 

Anders nodded, his eyes on the window and the sunlight streaming in. He could feel a little of the tension easing from him simply from the increased light in the room. He could feel hunger; he tried to remember when last he’d eaten and realised it had been the half a bowl of oatmeal he’d managed to eat that morning, a little after the ninth bell or so. “Yes, I... they gave me nothing in the cell,” he said, his voice still quiet. He sipped the water slowly.

“Very well; Fen, do you want anything?” Vic added.

“Something light, I ate a lot earlier. Thanks love,” Fenris replied before settling back to relax. Zevran was still sound asleep beside him, though as the sunlight hit his face his eyelids fluttered slightly, his breathing becoming more shallow.

Anders was gazing towards the sunlight, the tension visibly leaving him as he exhaled slowly. He glanced up at Fenris for a moment, then took another sip of water.

Fenris was quiet, as was the room and soon he was dozing off with the warmth of the sun on him, and no one really talking. It wasn’t the deep sleep he’d been in previously but a light nod. He didn’t waken until the door opened and he heard a new voice. 

He felt Zevran instantly tense next to him, stirring slightly as the Antivan’s eyes opened slightly, golden eyes narrowed and glittering dangerously, face blank like a mask as his gaze went to the door, one hand shifting slightly to touch the hilt of one of his knives.

“Easy… it’s just food being brought to us,” Fenris said quietly. He gave the servant a nod and let a hand rest on Zevran’s shoulder until they were alone again. He felt the Antivan relax slightly at his touch; Zevran’s hand did not leave the hilt of the knife until the servant had gone however. He closed his eyes and lifted a hand to pat Fenris’ hand on his shoulder.

Anders had glanced over at the movement, the mage seemingly half-asleep himself. He’d finished his glass of water and had been sitting quietly, gazing at the sunshine that shone onto the bed, his eyelids heavy as he sat there, the adrenaline from being imprisoned steadily leaving him. He stared at Fenris’ hand on Zevran’s shoulder, then at the Antivan as he closed his eyes and seemed to relax back into sleep again before he glanced away.

“Anders, food is here,” Vic said as he made up a plate for Fenris and took it to him on a tray, letting the elf feed himself before sitting at the table and digging in to the hearty slab of pork and bowl of mashed potatoes.

Anders roused himself enough to nod his thanks to Vic, helping himself to a plate of food. He returned to his seat and balanced the plate on his knees as he ate.

Zevran opened his eyes briefly as Vic set the tray before Fenris, then closed them again, turning his face away slightly into the pillow.

“Zevran, you should eat as well. There should be enough for you,” Fenris said between bites, glad for something hot and filling. He even nudged the other elf’s shoulder to get him up. “Go on, there’s food.”

Zevran opened his eyes again and glanced at the food; finally he rose to help himself to a small plate, returning to the bed to sit cross-legged by Fenris’ feet, eating silently. Anders glanced up at him with a small frown of worry. He glanced up at Fenris again, then back to Zevran, wondering what could have happened between them.

Fenris finished up quickly and set the tray aside, worried for the other elf’s silence. “Zevran...are you alright?” he asked quietly before glancing to Anders. “Anders is here, we’re all together again.”

Zevran nodded, not looking up from his plate. “I was aware,” he replied quietly. “I am fine.”

“No you’re not,” Fenris said, right before Vic echoed him. The warrior turned and gave his husband a look before turning back to Zevran. “I’ve known you too long to not see your tells. Look at us, stop with the lying about being fine. Neither you or Anders are alright.” 

Zevran lifted his head to return Fenris’ stare. His eyes were dull, a little unfocused, still red from his earlier bout of weeping. “Perhaps not,” he murmured after a moment. He gave a half shrug with one shoulder. “It is what it is, eh?” He gave Fenris a faint, sad smile. 

Fenris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is not what it is. You all don’t let me get away with this, you damn sure won’t. However it can wait until we’re back in the room and not here where anyone could come in on that conversation.” 

“I’d like to hear his reasons he’s like this, after all none of us have been spared when Zevran wants to know answers to something,” Vic said.

Zevran dropped his gaze back to his food and gave a small shake of his head, though he made no move to continue eating.

“Zevran?” asked Anders softly; his only reply was another small shake of the Antivan’s head.

“Fine, leave it for now,” Vic replied before picking up after everyone, except Fenris gave him a smile and asked for more. 

“Guess I’m still hungry love,” Fenris said as he watched Vic fix him a second plate and kissed his hand before the brunet pulled away. 

Zevran had barely touched his food, but it was clear he had no appetite. Anders’ frown deepened as he stared at the Antivan, but he said nothing. Instead he glanced up at Fenris.

“I’m surprised one of the healers hasn’t checked on you by now,” he said. “Do they think you’ll recover with just rest and food?”

“I have no idea, I haven’t even been awake long,” Fenris replied, just as the door opened and a healer entered, surprised to see three men with their patient. Anders glanced up, and realised with a sinking heart that it was the same healer he’d had the altercation with this morning. He ducked his head and turned his face away, sitting still.

Zevran merely fixed the healer with a flat stare, his face giving nothing away as he watched, silent.

“Hello, healer….?” Vic struggled to recall the man’s name. 

“Kristoffer, hello former First Enchanter.” The man gave a nod before giving Anders a glare for a long moment, until Fenris addressed him.

“So, do you know what’s wrong yet?” the white haired elf asked as he stared at the healer, worried for what it could be. Anders had his head down, not moving, although from where he was standing Vic could see the the blond mage’s face had gone very pale as he stared fixedly at the floor.

Zevran was simply watching the healer, his eyes glittering as he fixed the man with his stare, silent and watchful.

Invictus went over and rested a hand on Anders’ shoulder as they waited to see what the healer had to say. He heard Anders give a very soft gasp, and he realised the mage was trembling slightly. Evidently the guard’s threat coming after spending several hours in a cell had unnerved the blond mage badly. Anders turned a little and leaned in to Vic’s touch, desperate for that small touch of comfort.

“Well? Is it bad?” Fenris asked again, worried when the healer didn’t answer him immediately. 

Kristoffer turned to the elven mage and gave him a soft smile, almost like the news had to be bad. “We don’t quiet know messere. We know you’ve recently found your magic, or at least its new to you with all the mana we found in your system. But we’ve also been unable to figure out why you collapsed like that. You’re in good health, so even with a few missed meals you shouldn’t have been unconscious for so long. There’s also the lyrium in your skin, which seems to be interacting with your magic in a strange way.”

“I’ve only discovered I have magic a short while ago, maybe a month at most. Will it hurt me? The magic I mean, and the lyrium together? Will this happen again?” Fenris asked fearfully.

“We don’t know serrah. I would like you to stay here for the night, then report to the College for a test of your magic in the next few days. Something about your abilities given by the lyrium and this very late discovery of being a mage are part of it. Have you had any injuries lately?” Kristoffer asked as he approached the bed.

“I...had a fall but I seemed to be alright after my husband healed me. I have a headache still, and I’m tired but otherwise I think I’m ok,” he answered.

The healer gave a look to Invictus when Fenris mentioned his husband. “What healing did you do?” 

“Oh, me? I didn’t do much, I’ve always been better at fighting than healing. It was him that did the hard work,” Vic said with a nod to Anders, who seemed to be ready to bolt. Anders darted him a nervous glance, then dropped his eyes again, unable to face looking at the man who had been responsible for his imprisonment.

“I’m a spirit healer,” he said in a low voice. “I healed a fractured skull - rear. Broken ribs. Internal bleeding. Spine trauma.”

“How are you not dead?” Kristoffer blurted out as he turned to Fenris. 

“I asked myself that every day since that fall,” Fenris said in a far less friendly tone.

“Apologies, that was … rude of me. I’ve never heard of someone making it through those kinds of injuries alive, let alone in relative good health as you’re in. This aside, of course,” the healer said before turning to Anders again.

“Wait, he said his husband but _you_ spoke ser. Are you both… that’s not...how?” Kristoffer asked, forgetting all of his manners.

Anders merely lifted his hand to show the three rings resting on the fingers of his left hand. Zevran lifted his left hand at the same time and waggled his fingers in a little almost mocking wave, the sunlight from the window catching his rings and making them glint.

“We were married by the Inquisitor himself, witnessed by Parcival’s wife Becky,” Anders said quietly, still not looking up at the man. “We are married - all four of us. I spoke only the truth to you, ser.”

“I… I apologize,” the healer said, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment. “I’ll make sure you can all come visit serrah Fenris at your leisure until he’s released,” he added quietly before turning back to Fenris.

“I will return before dinner to examine you again, and see if my theory on your newly found magic interacting strangely with the lyrium in your skin is part of why you went down so hard. If you don’t mind, I’d like to consult with Ser Pavus, and our guest researcher; I’m afraid First Enchanter Parcival is still ill.” 

At the news of Parcival, Anders’ eyes flicked up to Vic; he’d wondered at Parcival’s continued absence, and he’d intended to visit him before the whole mess had blown up.

Zevran studied his rings thoughtfully, his eyes going to the healer who still seemed rather flustered over them all being married.

“Yes, you can consult with them. Do I have to wait for your examination later before I can leave?” Fenris asked worriedly.

“I would like it if you remained for today and we can hopefully let you go back to your rooms tomorrow afternoon or evening serrah.” Kristoffer replied.

“Do you mind bringing them when you return?” the elf asked.

“As long as you are fine with it, that will actually make it easier for me. I will return later, if you need anything, I’ll schedule someone to check on you and get a request for dinner shortly. Apologies again to you all.” Kristoffer said before leaving them alone again. 

Anders finally relaxed once the healer had gone. He put a hand to his head and sighed softly. Zevran cast him a glance, but held still.

“Didn’t know they’d send him,” murmured Anders. “Thought I was going to find myself being arrested again.”

“I wouldn't let you be taken again,” Vic said quietly as he went over to get water for himself. 

“Though I can’t really get up, I would not let them do that to you, no matter my annoyance right now,” Fenris said quietly before he laid down and groaned, his headache not getting any better despite food and rest.

“Can I do anything for you, love?” asked Anders softly.

Fenris raised an eyebrow, surprised to be called love. “No, for now I’m fine Anders. I think I want a nap until the healer comes to check on me. If it will not be terribly boring for you, you lot can stay but I am just taking a nap that’s all,” the elf replied. 

Anders nodded. “Alright,” he acceded. He glanced up at Zevran who was staring down at the blanket on the bed, looking tired and drained now; the Antivan seemed unaware of his scrutiny, however.

“I would like to stay,” Zevran finally said, in a voice that was barely a tone above a whisper.

“I said you can stay, but it will likely be boring with me asleep,” Fenris said before turning over on his stomach and getting comfortable. He closed his eyes and tried to relax with them all watching him. 

Anders shifted slightly in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position to rest in. He leaned against the back of the chair, his arms folded as he gazed towards the window. Presently he was softly snoring in spite of the uncomfortable chair.

Zevran remained where he was, hands resting on his knees, glancing up at Invictus though he said nothing.

Invictus returned the elf’s gaze, unsure what he wanted and not wanting to wake either sleeping man. He also didn’t want to leave Fenris alone but he was bored watching the elf sleep and it had only been a few minutes. 

Zevran seemed likewise reticent to disturb either Fenris or Anders; he lowered his gaze back to the blanket. After a moment, he slowly climbed down off the bed. He made his way over to the window and sat down on the floor, his back to the wall, and stared over at Fenris and Anders, watching them silently as they slept.

“I’ll be back in a bit, I’ll get something for Fenris to do while he’s stuck here. I’ll also let Dorian know where his amicus is in case he wants to visit before this evening. Will you be fine here?” Vic asked quietly. 

Zevran nodded. “I shall be here,” he replied softly.

Vic gave him a nod back and headed off, glad to be free of the tension in the room for a bit.

Zevran rested his head against the wall and watched the room silently. The only sound was the faint raspy snore of Anders as he slept in his chair.

**

Anders sat in the chair by the window, trying to concentrate on the book in his lap but too distracted; when he realised he’d been trying to read the same line four times in a row and loosing the thread each time, he gave up to close the book and sit staring out the window instead.

The visit to see Zevran, whilst reassuring - the Antivan seeming not to have suffered too badly from his spell in the oubliette - had also raised uncertain feelings; Dorian had been quite disturbed by the thought that Zevran had bedded his mirror self. Anders couldn’t help but feel that, graciously though the Tevinter magister seemed to take it, there would be future trouble over that.

And Leto had refused to come - had, in fact, shut himself away in the other room and thus far not come out again. Anders figured he’d probably come out when he was hungry, but after the way the elf had reacted when Fenris had shown up to take them, Anders was disinclined to bother him.

Dorian was sleeping in the bed; Anders cast him a worried glance, then returned to gazing out the window. Something felt decidedly _wrong_ right now, though Anders couldn’t quite put his finger on what. He’d had a splitting headache earlier at the Warden waystation, and the long nap he took there had only dulled it a little. It was making concentrating on anything pretty hard.

He leaned back in the chair and sighed softly, wondering if it was worth trying to persuade Leto to come out at least for something to eat or whether it were better to leave well enough alone; if Leto were angry about Zevran still then he really didn't think chasing after him would be a good idea. They’d been able to talk earlier, before the visit, and Anders didn’t want to ruin what progress they’d made there.

Anders didn’t have to wait to check on Leto, as the elf finally came out, his hair down and loose, a tunic that was rumpled and sleep pants. He looked up at them, unsure what would happen after the blistering fight over him not going to see Zevran. 

Anders glanced up him, and gave him a gentle smile. “Hey, love,” he greeted him quietly, voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping magister.

“Hey, love,” Leto replied, glancing at Dorian before looking at the other mage. “Safe to stay while he’s asleep?” 

Anders glanced at Dorian, then nodded. “He should be out for quite a while yet; he was pretty tired when we came back. Just crashed out and hasn’t stirred since.” He rubbed his forehead with a slight wince; the headache just wasn’t shifting.

“You alright?” Leto asked as he came over and sat at Anders feet, content to rest against the other man’s thigh and be quiet. 

Anders dropped a hand down to trawl it gently through Leto’s without thinking, much as he had with Fenris. “Just a headache; I fell asleep on the beach on the shore of Lake Calenhad in the full sunshine and woke up with a splitting head. It’ll pass off sooner or later; I must have just caught a bit too much of the sun.”

“Can I help at all love?” Leto asked as he turned his head to kiss Anders’ hand. “Do you want to lie down with me for a while?” 

“Can’t hurt, and better company than a book I can’t concentrate on,” murmured Anders as he gave the elf a fond look.

“Will a massage help, or rubbing your temples?” Leto asked as he returned the mage’s loving look. 

“Oh, Maker - if you give me a massage you realise you could pretty much do anything you like with me afterwards?” Anders chuckled. “I’ll just be a puddle. Yes, love, you can certainly try that.”

“Don’t offer that cause I might not know how to behave,” Leto murmured as he got to his feet and tugged Anders behind him. He shut the door and started to strip off as he headed for the bed. 

Anders followed, already tugging open his tunic, letting it fall to the floor as he reached for the laces of his linen shirt. “Seriously - I haven’t had a massage in so long, by the time you’ve finished I’ll just be putty,” he chuckled. He sat on the end of the bed to unlace his boots.

“Just tell me where I should concentrate on, and I’ll try to help since I can’t heal that well,” Leto said as he rummaged for oil and finding none grumped. “We can’t have used all that oil.” 

Anders chuckled softly as he set his boots aside then stripped off his pants and small clothed together. He sprawled face-down on the bed, stretching a hand back as he called up grease in the palm. “This should do,” he murmured. “And it’s my back and shoulders that need it the most. Just... don’t be too alarmed by any cracks you hear, OK?”

“I’ll do my best, and will be gentle as I can,” Leto said as he took the grease from Anders palm, straddled his back and got to work on his shoulders, pressing his thumbs into a knot he found. “Tell me if this hurts.”

Anders winced and shuddered as the elf worked on the knot; he cried out. “Oh, _Maker!_ ” he groaned. “Don’t stop.”

“That is not how I expect you to sound when I am just giving you a massage,” Leto quipped as he finally got the knot to loosen. Anders gave another low, heartfelt groan as he felt the muscles loosen around that spot.

“Believe me, that’s nothing compared to - _oh sweet Andraste’s flaming knickers!_ ” he broke off with a whimper as Leto’s fingers found another tense knot.

“Dorian is going to think I am murdering you,” he muttered as he worked on that knot and moved on, only to have Anders yelp again as he dug in. “Dumat’s hairy ballsack, you’re a mess.”

“Con... considering what - _oh sweet Maker_ \- what’s happened the past month, I -” Anders broke off with a low moan as that knot finally also loosened. “Ohhhhhh... that feels so good,” he murmured.

“Yes, he’s definitely going to get the wrong idea,” Leto said as he continued to work his way down Anders back; occasionally tossing his head to the side to get his hair out of his face. “Damn me for taking my hair down, it's in the way.”

“But I _like_ your hair down,” murmured Anders before he stiffened briefly with a faint hiss that subsided into another soft moan. He shifted slightly on the bed, turning his head to the other side. His face was flushed and his eyes half-lidded; evidently the massage was having the desired effect as he smiled dazedly.

“Yeah, why do you like my hair down? Do you want to pull on it or something while I take you?” Leto murmured as he ran his thumbs along Anders spine, hoping to soothe the other man while they had a chance to be alone.

“It looks pretty,” murmured Anders. “I just want to run my - _ohhhhhhhhhhhh._ ” He arched up into Leto’s touch at the sensation of his hands, his thumbs, running steadily down his spine. “Oh Maker. Do that again and you can do anything you want to me,” he slurred.

“Don’t make that promise right now, just… let me make you feel good,” Leto said as he continued to massage the other man, very aware of how Anders’ moans were affecting him. “ _Venhedis_ , you sound like I should be fucking you through the bed.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Anders managed to get out. He gazed back at Leto over his shoulder; his hair was plastered damply to his face in places and he looked thoroughly wanton as he gazed at the elf. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he arched up into Leto’s touch, and then he chuckled breathlessly as he felt something brush his arse as he writhed slightly. “And it feels like you wouldn’t say no either,” he murmured.

“I wouldn’t, you’re right,” Leto said as he leaned forward to press against Anders and bite his neck. “Or we could turn the tables and you could...fuck me through the bed.” he purred in the blond’s ear.

“That would require me to be capable of moving,” groaned Anders. “Told you... you’ve turned me into a puddle. You could do anything you want to me right now, seriously.” He smiled drowsily. “Maker, I feel so good right now....”

“You mean you wouldn’t jump at the chance to take the big, mean warrior? Make him scream for you?” Leto asked as he nibbled on Anders’ neck, careful of his fangs he could feel slipping down. 

Anders whimpered softly as he felt the sharp teeth graze the side of his neck slightly. “Jump?” he chuckled breathlessly. “Maker, I’m not even sure I’d be capable of crawling right now....”

“It’s ok, just know the offer is there when you are a bit more capable,” Leto said before he sat up and called more slick to his palm and nudged Anders’ legs apart. “If you’re too tired, tell me so I don’t push my luck,” he said before slipping two fingers into his lover, twisting just so, crooking his finger so he could brush the other man’s prostate every few strokes. “Want me?”

Anders clutched at the bed covers and cried out, then again as he felt Leto stroking his sweet spot; it wasn’t long before he was writhing and whimpering. “Yes, yes... oh Maker, please Leto, yes!” he pleaded. He pushed back into Leto’s next thrust of his fingers and then shuddered. 

“Easy...you’re gonna get what you want.” Leto said as he laid to his side and turned Anders to his lie against him. “Just in case I ...uh… knot again.” he said as he lifted one of the blond’s legs so he could get into him. 

Anders groaned softly as he felt Leto pushing steadily into him, filling and stretching him until he was fully sheathed inside Anders’ tight, hot body. “I hope you do,” he panted. “You have no idea how good it feels... Leto... please, fuck me!”

“Easy love, easy. Unless you want the whole courtyard to hear you begging for my cock, I left the windows open you know,” the elf chuckled as he thrust harder, punctuating it with a few slaps to Anders ass, happy to hear the low moan that got him. 

“Maker... harder,” Anders begged. “Please!”

“Just Leto will do,” the elf laughed as he wrapped an arm around Anders, slapping his hips against him harder and harder. “Love you,” he whispered in his ear as he tried to fuck him senseless.

Anders cried out and arched his head back, his breaths coming as pants now, whimpering slightly as he reached for his own cock, hard and weeping where it lay neglected. “Leto... oh fuck me... Leto....” he gasped.

“I think that’s what I’m doing,” Leto snarled as he snapped his hips hard to make his point before biting Anders on the shoulder, a low growl coming out as he continued to fuck his mage. Anders cried out at the sharp, sudden pain and then keened, his body shuddering as he pumped his own cock with his hand, feeling himself start to crest towards his own release. 

“C-close,” he gasped out. “Oh Maker, Leto, I’m so close....”

Leto covered Anders’ mouth with his hand after his loud cries, though he didn’t stop fucking Anders hard and fast, deep as he could. “You’re so loud...I should spank you,” he muttered. Anders’ cries were almost screams, muffled by the elf’s large hand pressed firmly over his mouth but the mage nodded enthusiastically, still fisting his own cock as his body shuddered and jerked. He squeezed his eyes tight shut as he came finally, messily, over his own hand; screaming against Leto’s palm.

“Love you...so much,” Leto breathed in his ear as he chased his own orgasm and finally came, breathing hard, and feeling like he was going to sleep for a week. He dropped his hand as he curled closer to Anders and tried to calm himself. 

As he pulled his hand away from Anders’ lips, the mage was panting raggedly, his eyes closed as he waited for his heart to stop racing. He lay there with his eyes closed, feeling how tight and full he still felt. “Maker... can feel you,” he gasped breathlessly. “So big....” He laughed, a little helplessly. “Can you... could you go again? Or do we... do we just lie here and -” He broke off as he ground back onto Leto’s knot and then gasped soundlessly as he felt it brushing his sweet spot, sending a shudder through him.

“Yeah… I can, just need to catch my breath,” Leto said quietly as he continued to worry Anders’ neck with his teeth, then laughed as he felt his tail twitching against his leg. “Damn… been a while since that happened in bed.”

Anders opened his eyes and managed to look down, then chuckled. “A... a tail? Maker... I’ve been fucked by a dragon.” He giggled again, helplessly.

“I take it you don’t remember that eh?” Leto said as he leaned back a bit and called up more slick to his hand. “Hmm, this might be difficult,” he said before coating two fingers and very gently slipping them in to coat Anders before pulling them out and opting to put more slick around his cock before trying take the other man again. 

Anders gasped and then cried out slightly as he felt Leto moving inside him, the knot stretching him almost unbearably wide as the elf drew back then thrust back into him. “L-Leto! _Leto!_ ” 

He stilled, worried he was hurting his lover. “I can stop if it hurts. I’m sorry,” Leto said as he held perfectly still. 

“N-no... just... Maker, so much... it - it’s a bit overwhelming,” Anders gasped. “P-please... don’t stop... gag me if you like but just _please_....”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Leto repeated as he relaxed. “Also worried I can’t get more slick in you since we’re... you know… connected,” he added as he tried to move just a bit, letting more lube trickle from his finger as he slowly moved. 

“Maybe I....” Anders’ voice tailed off as he pressed a hand to his own chest and closed his eyes, concentrating as he felt his way through his body with his healer’s senses. He could feel his tissues stretched almost painfully by the elf’s cock and the large knot; feel, too, the elf’s spend deep inside himself, not slick enough to help. It was hard to draw enough thought together for what he was trying to do as the huge cock shifted inside him; he was oblivious to the high keen that escaped his lips, his focus all directed inside.

Then he managed to dredge up enough focus and call up slick directly inside himself, and Leto suddenly found his hand was coated as he shifted inside Anders.

Anders drew his consciousness back out of his own body to feel Leto rolling against him, grinding the knot inside him as he pressed his free hand over Anders’ mouth again, muffling the cries Anders hadn’t even realised he was making. The mage drew in a ragged breath through his nose as he shuddered, each roll of Leto’s hips brushing that thick knot inside him.

Leto tried to keep his growling down but it was hard as he felt how tight and hot Anders was around his cock. “Gonna ruin me, letting me knot you, love.” He put one hand over Anders’ mouth and the one that was covered in slick around the other man’s cock, stroking steadily as he worked Anders up, tried to get him to come again.

Anders’ every exhalation now was a muffled cry against Leto’s hand, helpless between the elf’s cock thrusting deep inside him and the hand upon his own cock; all he could do was writhe and shudder, keening muffled, his eyes closed as he felt another climax building, slowly coiling low and heavy in his groin and building steadily until with another scream that was stifled by the elf’s hand he came hard over Leto’s fist.

Leto closed his eyes as he struggled to come a second time so quickly, but soon he was filling Anders again, feeling more than he expected for a second round of love making - well, fucking like animals if he was honest. He let his hand fall to the bed and didn’t bother to wipe Anders’ come off his other hand; he just lay there, panting, as he felt himself getting back to normal. “Can’t move...sleep now,” he mumbled as he tried to reach for a shirt or something to wipe his hand off and Anders. “Fuck… can’t reach, we’re a mess,” he said before he just curled up against Anders, even throwing a leg over the blond before he tried to sleep. Anders was already limp and unresponsive in his arms, his eyes closed; Leto wasn’t sure if he were already asleep or even unconscious. He wasn’t snoring, which was a little worrying; but possibly he was so relaxed and deep under he couldn’t snore. With Anders facing away from him, it was impossible to tell.

“Love… you ok?” Leto asked as he forced himself up to his elbow to check o the other man. “Anders, talk to me love,” he whispered, worried he’d gone too far.

Anders didn’t respond; not even a flicker of his eyelids. He seemed deep under, his face relaxed, lips slightly parted. His breathing was slowing, deep and even; his pulse as Leto checked it seemed slow and steady.

“Oh thank Andraste, I thought I broke you,” Leto said before he tried to get comfortable still connected to Anders, and exhausted after two hard rounds of sex. He tugged a sheet over them and soon was snoring alongside his lover.

**

“... of course I’m really not a healer, Invictus,” Dorian was saying as they headed back towards the Infirmary. Vic had found the magister as Dorian was returning across the courtyard from a long session in the research labs with Varania; the elven woman and Anders’ daughter Ellowynne had apparently made some kind of breakthrough but Dorian had been unwilling to say too much about it before they could test and see if they could replicate their results. “Really, Anders would have a far better idea than I, but I shall come and see what I can sense and see if I can help offer a little insight from a theoretical point of view.”

“You know more about magical theory than I do,” Vic said as if it explained everything as they walked. He gave Dorian a wan smile as he considered if he wanted to tell the magister about how rocky things had been.

“That’s as may be - but I dare say Anders is not only my equal there but, indeed, my superior when it comes to healing - and to Fenris’ lyrium; he’s healed Fenris so often, and whilst I have a fair idea how the lyrium works in terms of his teleportation abilities - well, how that all ties in to his newfound status as a mage, I’m not entirely sure just yet,” Dorian pointed out. “I’ve never really dealt with the apprentices that have just come in to their powers; I haven’t the temperament, really. Anders was always far better at that than I - and Parcival really has a marvellous talent. He generally handles the classes for those who come to their powers late; he’s been teaching this young man, twenty-two, I believe Parcival told me he was. No control over his elemental magic at all - but three months with Parcival and he can produce perfect small flames with total control. Quite remarkable, really. Such a shame that Parcival’s been laid up in bed for the past week since that whole potion and healing business.” Dorian sighed.

“Well Anders could see to him, he is a better healer than I can ever be,” Vic said as they went. “Besides, I don’t know if Fenris is feeling up to having Anders check him over. Things have not been great since he got back, and having his counterpart, the other you and the other Anders has not helped out.” 

“Oh, having them all stuck here still, you mean?” asked Dorian. “Yes... funny thing, that. I’ve been having the most disturbing dreams since they all showed up. I’m wondering how much of that is due to being far too close to my own mirror self. I had quite the nasty dizzy turn just after you all left, after Anders was healed - had to call for help to get Parcival moved. I’d put it down to having worked solidly on that potion for well over a day and not eating enough, but now I find myself wondering if that’s all that was. I had a terrible nightmare last night though - Zevran was trapped in this horrible dark little hole, and then leapt off the edge of - well, I think it was perhaps some hole in the wall, or a ledge or something; couldn’t see it very clearly.” 

He was walking a pace ahead of Vic, so didn’t see the look the other mage was giving him.

“Sounds about right, the other Zevran reported nightmares as well as ours. I haven’t had any strange dreams, likely because Hawke is dead in their world,” Vic said as he caught up with the other mage. 

“Has your Anders had any nightmares?” inquired Dorian in curiosity. “I should think that both men being spirit healers would make both Anderses rather more sensitive to such things.”

“I haven't had a chance to ask. As I said things have been… difficult,” Vic replied.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Dorian sincerely as he glanced back to the other mage. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Fuck Fenris’ brains out so he can get that itch scratched and stop being a brat,” Vic said without missing a beat.

Dorian halted and stared at him. “I’m... sorry, I must have misheard you,” said the magister faintly.

“No, you heard me correctly. He’s been in a snit and wanting to play and we haven’t been in a place to give it to him. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood if he gets a good banging soon,” Vic replied.

“I - I see,” said Dorian in that same disbelieving faint voice. “Not even Zevran? He’s always seemed quite... well... libidinous....”

“Alas no, he’s not been himself with the other him around and a big part of that strain is between him and Fenris. It’s just … it’s been not pleasant, and you at least are someone we know he likes and has permission to be with by us. My guess is he trusts you and whatever you two get up to will satisfy whatever itch he’s got since coming back,” Vic said tiredly.

Dorian halted again and stared at Vic. “But... but Invictus, I - I have taken Fenris very rarely! Are you sure he would even want that from me?”

“I think so - after all, you’re not me, Zevran or Anders and he’s been on a tear to get certain needs met but hasn’t been able to get that from us. Void, he may ask you himself the next time you two get a chance to be alone,” Vic said tiredly. 

Dorian glanced away with a frown. “Are you so certain of that?” he asked. “He was behaving very oddly towards me when last I saw him - the peremptory way he practically _ordered_ me to have that damned scar looked at, and he could barely even look at me, Invictus. And that’s not the only time he’s acted strangely towards me. I....” He looked back at Invictus. “Look here, if I’m out of line then say so and I shan’t say another word - but... did something happen between Fenris and the other mirrors of people he knows? My mirror, for example?”

Vic sighed as he leaned against the wall and laid out what he knew of Fenris’ time in the other Thedas, what he had found out about the other Dorian. “Apparently he broke them of the other him’s abuse. But that Dorian and he are not on good terms, I’m not one hundred percent sure what the real issue is there. Fenris said he had a bit of jealousy after getting the other you and other Zevran together; which surprised me. But it sounds like he got attached to the other you fairly quickly, to pretend he was Leto so they wouldn't get found out.” 

“I... see,” said Dorian slowly. “How strange. I like Zevran well enough as a person, but I can’t say I know him that well - in fact, to be quite honest with you Invictus, Zevran has always scared me just a little bit - even whilst his leg was in such terrible condition. I’ve seen him climbing around the outside of the Rookery this past week and frankly, he scares me even more. Don’t get me wrong - I respect him very much. But I’m having trouble imagining having him as a lover. He’s devastatingly gorgeous of course, and I will honestly say that yes, I have admired his many attractions from afar - but to sleep with him? Dumat, I’m not sure what to think of that!”

“Well this is the other you and other him, not you and our Zevran,” Vic said with a smirk. “Besides, I’m sure if you get past that exterior, he’d be good.” 

Dorian arched an eyebrow. “I think I shall pass; matters seem complicated enough between you all already without my overstepping _that_ particular mark. You may as well say I should sleep with Anders!”

“Nah, that’s not something I could see happening. I also wasn’t speaking for Zevran, since I have no idea how he feels about you. Relax, Dorian, just shag Fenris into a better mood and do us all a favor,” Vic said as he resumed his walk to Fenris’ room.

“Let’s get Fenris back to full health first,” said Dorian in a distracted tone.

“Let’s see what this healer has to say then,” Vic added before they entered the room to find Fenris half awake, seemingly staring at nothing though he was still. 

“Love? You awake?” Vic asked as he approached.

“Hmm, yeah, just bored,” Fenris replied quietly. 

Dorian glanced down at Anders; the blond mage was deeply asleep, his head hanging down in a way that would surely mean he’d wake up with a sore neck. Over by the window, Zevran sat crosslegged, his head bowed though Dorian thought he saw a glitter of golden eyes.

Fenris forced himself to sit up and rubbed his face slowly. “Hi Dorian.” He gave the magister a smile as he looked up at him. 

“ _Amicus_ ,” sai Dorian warmly as he moved forward to take Fenris’ hands. “Invictus has given me a brief overview of what’s happened - my dear friend, Dumat has not looked over you with favour, I fear.”

“He never has, _amicus_ ,” Fenris said as he gently pulled Dorian into a hug. “I’m glad to see you.”

“I figured I’d save the healer a trip to get him, and let you two visit for a while,” Vic said as he smiled at them.

Dorian held Fenris close. “ _Amicus_ , if there is anything I can do - _anything_ \- name it, and I shall do it,” he said softly for Fenris’ ears only. “And let us see if we can get to the root cause of your current problem, hmm?”

“Let’s talk when I am out of here, if you wish,” Fenris replied quietly, unsure what Dorian was offering but unwilling to discuss with everyone present. “How are you doing?” he asked quietly. 

“Far better once I’d slept,” replied Dorian with a smile. “And I think we’ve had a breakthrough as regards creating a portal to send your mirror selves back. Though I was most saddened to hear of the suicide of their Zevran.”

Zevran’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Dorian; he seemed about to speak then checked himself, glancing to Fenris.

“My word - I am so sorry, Zevran,” said Dorian. “You hadn’t heard? He was imprisoned in the undercroft and apparently leapt to his death. Dreadful business. I am so sorry - I thought you had heard?”

Zevran blinked, then wordlessly shook his head. “No, we... were not told,” he replied after a moment, glancing to Fenris again. It wasn’t a lie, precisely; but Dorian had taken his startlement for anguish and grief.

“Can we not speak of it for now, especially with Anders still asleep?” Fenris said quietly. 

“I’ll wake Anders up, but you were going to check Fenris over as we wait for the healer to return,” Vic said. 

“Forgive me for mentioning such a painful subject, _amicus_ ,” said Dorian gently before nodding to Vic. “Yes - yes, of course. Fenris, if you wouldn’t mind?” He held out his hands again. “I promise I shall do my best to avoid hurting you.”

Zevran had glanced away; he looked discomforted and a little dazed, as if not quite fully awake - or uncertain if this were all part of his dream.

Anders was oblivious to their glances and looks; he was deeply asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly, even his snores soft and peaceful.

“Damn, I wonder if I should even wake him?” Vic said quietly.

Fenris had let Dorian take his hands, and closed his eyes so the other mage could work. 

Dorian closed his own eyes, and let his magic flow passively into the elf.

He frowned. He could feel his magic being tugged into the paths of the lyrium; rather than fight it, he let it flow, his consciousness flowing with it. “Interesting,” he murmured. “You don’t have a mana pool as such; your magic is fuelled directly from the Fade through your lyrium... an inexhaustible supply. But the lyrium is... I can only describe it as... stressed? You’ve drawn on it too much... it’s living, and it needs to recharge....”

“Will it hurt me if I draw on it too much or cast too much?” Fenris asked worriedly.

“I think I’d need to confer with Anders to be certain... but yes, it’s possible,” said Dorian, his eyes still closed. “Making sure you eat and rest fully will be very important, _amicus_. If the lyrium isn’t nurtured and sustained by rest, it... I think it has been feeding, as it were, from your very vitality, your life force.” He opened his eyes and stepped back. “I really would like Anders to check you over, but I’m fairly certain this is the cause of your problem, _amicus_.”

“If you think it best, then … go ahead and wake him,” Fenris said quietly. 

Dorian glanced to Anders, sleeping so peacefully, then to Invictus. “Perhaps it would be better if you wake him?” he suggested quietly.

“Fine.” Invictus shook Anders again even using a trickle of magic to try and get the other man to wake up.

Anders woke with a start and looked around bewildered. “Wha - where - Vic? What - what’s going on?”

“Dorian wanted you to check Fenris over, since he’s not a healer and you are,” Vic said tiredly. 

Anders blinked, noticing the magister standing by the bed, smiling at him kindly. He glanced at Fenris. “Um... sure... let me just wake up a bit... Maker, my neck is killing me!” He put a hand to the back of his neck and channelled a little healing magic to ease the stiffness. “How long was I asleep?” he asked.

“For a few hours I think,” Vic said as he watched Anders stretching out. He turned and gave Fenris a reassuring grin. 

“I’m sure you’re fine love, just have to take it easy and learn to manage your new powers,” Vic tried to reassure him.

Anders got to his feet and nodded to Dorian as the magister moved aside. Anders held his hands out to Fenris, palms up, and gave Fenris what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “May I check your lyrium, love? And I’ll do what I can to fix things?”

Fenris offered his hand with a moment of hesitation but regardless let his hands rest in Anders’ and stared up at him. “Go ahead.” 

Anders closed his eyes. Fenris felt the touch of the blond mage’s magic - cool, soothing, familiar as it flowed through his veins and lyrium which lit up softly yet with no pain.

Anders bowed his head, a small frown appearing as his consciousness drifted within Fenris’ body, following the lyrium. Fenris felt Anders’ magic intensifying for a moment - whispering quicksilver through his veins but without pain; and then the blue glow around Anders’ hands shifted slowly to white as Anders’ breathing became ragged, sweat standing out upon his forehead. Anders gasped, a faint whimper; and then suddenly Fenris felt an easing, deep inside; a flow of energy, invigorating and refreshing, even as Anders broke his grip on Fenris’ hands and sank to his knees with a low groan, spent and exhausted.

“Your magic changed - why did you use your life force?” Fenris asked as he leaned forward to pick Anders up, or at least get him on the bed before he landed on his face. Anders fell forward onto the bed, his eyes closed. 

“Touched... lyrium, it... my mana, drained,” he murmured softly, his eyelids flickering as he turned his face towards Fenris. “So... so tired.” His knees buckled, and he slid slowly to the floor in a dead faint.

Zevran was on his feet and at Anders’ side in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees as he reached for Anders, checking his pulse before he slumped a little in relief. “He has only fainted,” he said thankfully. His face was full of worry as he stared down at Anders. “He used his life force to heal you....” He looked up at Fenris. “Do... do you feel any different? Has it worked?”

“I feel better; something unwound as he healed me. As for working, I don’t know as I am no healer,” Fenris said a little tersely before getting up and trying to get Anders back on the bed before going to Vic for a hug. 

“Hey love, sure you should be out of bed?” Vic asked before kissing the elf on the lips.

“Yeah, I feel better and I need to stand, to move around.” Fenris said quietly before he returned Vic’s kiss. 

Zevran carefully turned Anders so he was lying on his back, his head resting in Zevran’s lap as the Antivan knelt there, gently stroking Anders’ face and calling his name. It was a good quarter of an hour before Anders’ eyelids flickered a little then his eyes drifted half-open.

“Zev?” he slurred drowsily. “Where - where am I?”

“You fainted, _mi cuore_ ,” Zevran replied gently. “You gave too much of yourself to heal Fenris.”

“So tired,” Anders murmured.

“I know, my heart,” said Zevran softly. “But you cannot sleep on the floor. Come, up with you now - I shall help you back to our room where you may sleep, yes?”

“Alright,” Anders sighed.

Vic exchanged a glance with Fenris then helped Zevran to get Anders to his feet. “You sure you can manage him by yourself?” he asked, skeptically.

“It is not far,” replied Zevran as he pulled Anders’ arm across his shoulder and slipped an arm around his waist. Anders looked up at Fenris and Vic and gave a wan smile.

“Worth it to see you on your feet again, love,” he murmured to Fenris. The elf returned his gaze and was silent for a moment, then nodded.

“Thank you,” he replied tersely.

“I hope the healers will let you go soon, now you have been healed,” said Zevran. “We shall wait for you.”

With a nod to Vic then Fenris, Zevran gently guided Anders from the room.

It wasn’t far to their room, but Anders was exhausted, his footsteps faltering. Halfway there, Zevran had to beg assistance from a passing messenger; thankfully the man was willing to stop and help them.

They got Anders to his quarters, and Zevran nodded thanks to the messenger before guiding Anders inside. He got him to the bed, where Anders collapsed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. Zevran gently undressed him as far as he was able, setting Anders’ boots to one side and neatly folding his clothes, setting them on a chair, then drew the covers up over the sleeping mage.

That done, he took a seat in the window near the bed and sat to watch over Anders, and ponder what would happen next between the four of them.


	38. Chapter 38

Fenris watched them go before turning to Dorian and Invictus. “Do you want to stay until the healer comes? I could use the company.” 

“Of course love. Why don’t you and Dorian visit awhile, I need the privy and to catch someone to bring a tray; not sure why but I’m starved today,” Vic gave him a kiss on the cheek before heading off to give them a chance to talk. 

Fenris looked to Dorian and gave him a smile, unsure what the magister had meant before. “So, care to explain what you mean by that willing to do “anything” to help remark before you checked me over?” 

Dorian gave him a wry smile. “Invictus confided to me that apparently you’ve been having trouble getting certain itches scratched, _amicus_. If that is what you would wish from me, then... I am willing to indulge you, if it would help?”

“I...what?” Fenris asked as he stared at his friend in confusion. 

Dorian blinked at Fenris. “I’m sorry - have I misinterpreted what he was trying to tell me?” said Dorian in dismay. “ _Amicus_ , I’m so terribly sorry, I thought.... No matter. I was quite honest in my intent and I meant it, Fenris. Anything within my power to give or do for you - name it and I shall do it.”

“No, no it’s not you. I was just surprised is all. And kind of ...shocked that Invictus would tell you _that_.” Fenris took a breath as he tried not to march off and shake Vic for telling anyone about his needs and desires like that. Instead he gave Dorian a smile and wrapped his arms around the magister’s neck and stared into his eyes. 

“Trust me … _amicus_ , the fault here is not yours. I would have asked on my own, eventually. There is a need I’ve had, an itch that needs scratching that I haven’t gotten in a while. We’ve played like that before, so I’m not asking for anything new Dorian.” 

“Then I am more than happy to indulge you, _amicus_ ,” replied Dorian. “I believe Invictus’ intentions were genuine and not intended to cause embarrassment, mind you - after all, we have all been your partner in bed - though granted, not all at the same time! and so I suppose he thought it reasonable to raise the issue with me.”

Fenris had gotten a distracted, dreamy look on his face for a moment at the mention of them all being together at once before he realized Dorian was looking for a reply. “Oh, sorry I … was thinking about all of you, and me… forgive me.” 

He tilted his head and gave the other man a dirty smile. “Whatever would you do once you have me to yourself _amatus_?” Fenris asked then his eyes went wide as he realized his slip up.

Dorian had gone very still, his smile slipping slightly, a troubled look in his eye. “Ah....Of course,” he said softly in realisation. “The other you and my mirror self were... involved, over in that other Thedas, weren’t they? And you had to play the part for a while... just a little slip-up, force of habit after being trapped there for two weeks, hmm?”

Fenris was still staring at him, debating if he should teleport far, far away or remember how to speak. He just nodded quickly before dropping his gaze and trying not to panic. “Sorry...sorry. I…”

“Think nothing of it,” murmured Dorian as he took a half-step back from the bed and glanced away for a moment. “These things happen, don’t they? And you are not yet fully yourself, I think. It will be better once your mirror self and his companions have been sent on their way, I think.”

“Don’t be angry with me please, I can’t take it if anyone else gets mad at me,” Fenris said quietly as he glanced at Dorian before settling on the bed.

“My dear Fenris, I told you - think nothing of it. I am far from angry; you had a role to play for your own survival, and the odd slip here or there is nothing to be upset over - I am honestly, truthfully, not angry _amicus_.”

“Ok, sorry guess I’m still a little...fragile I guess with all that’s happened. Forgive me being dramatic?” Fenris said as he reached for Dorian’s hand. 

“Of course, _amicus_ ,” replied Dorian as he let Fenris take his hand. “You’re still recovering, after all; it’s all been a rather topsy-turvy kind of time for you since you returned, hasn’t it?”

“Yes...it’s been pretty bad. I still don’t know we’ll all make it as spouses. But you didn’t come here to hear me whine, what’s been going on with you besides recovering?” Fenris asked as he gave the other man a shy smile as he rubbed a thumb over the back of Dorian’s hand.

“Not much to say, really,” shrugged Dorian diffidently. “Mostly I’ve been dealing with the ridiculous amount of paperwork that comes with the position of magister, politicking, and matters concerning the Lucerni. And when not wrangling with that lot or sleeping, I’ve been over at the College, assisting your sister, Ellowynne and others to work on portal research. Varania and Ellowynne seem to have had some very promising results in their experiments, but we’ve been having some problems replicating them. But I think we are very close to being able to open a portal to this other Thedas from our own - without needing to reach out to a mage already there first.”

“Thank Dumat, the sooner they leave the better,” Fenris said as he tried not to sound too surly about it but he was heartily sick of them despite bringing them back to save them from their world. 

“ _Amicus_ , I’m curious - they all seem rather keen to go back with Leto, which rather begs the question of why you brought them all with you?” asked Dorian. “Though of course, in the case of their Anders, it’s as well you did - we were able to cure both his Calling _and_ Parcival was able to heal Anders’ heart completely. But I’m at a loss as to why you brought back their Zevran and my mirror self?”

“Because I wanted them to be free of Leto. I thought they could have a new start, or something. I hadn’t ...I thought they all could be better off away from their Skyhold; it’s evil.” Fenris shuddered as he thought of how the place had made him feel. 

Dorian sighed. “And with tragic consequences, I fear; they must be devastated that their Zevran took his own life after being imprisoned down there.” He glanced down, his mien serious.

“They’re… angry I suppose,” Fenris said quietly, glancing up at Dorian. “And grieving of course, but I can’t face their anger right now.”

“I can understand that,” Dorian nodded. “Perhaps it is as well that we’ll be able to send them home soon, where they can hopefully begin to heal. Your own Zevran is quite terrifying at times, but I know I would be most upset were he to die. My mirror self was very close to that Zevran, I believe? It must be so much harder to have come to a world not their own and then have this happen.”

“He’d kill me if he got the chance, I’m sure. He was already angry at me,” Fenris said as he squeezed his Dorian’s hand for reassurance.

Dorian sighed. “Ah, _amicus_ ,” he replied. “You all need to be able to put this dreadful business behind you and have a chance to heal between the four of you, don’t you? And until we can send them on their way, you’re all stuck in some horrible limbo, really. Is there anything I can do? Beyond my research, I mean?”

“Would you think me pathetic if I said a shoulder to cry on, get drunk and get my itch scratched?” Fenris tried to joke.

“Not at all, _amicus_ ,” said Dorian as he moved closer to the bed again. “And perhaps once this healer shows their face and lets you go, we shall do what we can, hmm?”

“If they let me leave tonight; they made it sound like they wanted to keep me here overnight,” Fenris said as he looked up. 

“If they do let you go tonight, I’ll tell them I encouraged you to visit with Dorian to get a break from us,” Vic said as he entered the room.

“Whatever it was that Anders did, you appear to have been healed,” remarked Dorian. “I can’t see why they would have to keep you in.”

“Oh, ok,” Fenris replied. He sat back and wondered about learning to cast magic, or do anything with his powers. “Anders suggested that you could teach me how to control my powers Dorian, unless you don’t think it would be a good idea?” he asked quietly.

Vic raised an eyebrow but said nothing, he knew he wasn’t suited to teaching his husband after he’d tried to teach him to read long ago.

Dorian glanced to Vic and frowned slightly. “I presume Anders suggested me, due to my theoretical grasp of magic - and because you aren’t married to me, _amicus_ ,” said Dorian slowly. “But whilst I am highly flattered that Anders holds my abilities and knowledge in such high regard, I’m afraid I am a poor teacher to all but those students who seek after that theoretical grounding. There’s a good reason why I have never taught the apprentices - I fear I lack the patience necessary. Though we do have some students who came to their magic later in life, it’s Parcival who teaches them; the man has a remarkable amount of patience and has the knack of explaining things clearly without ever talking down to his students. I would be willing to assist you - but I think that once Anders has recovered from healing you, perhaps we ought to ask him to step over to the college to treat Parcival and get our First Enchanter back on his feet again.”

“I… will ask Parcival when he is feeling better,” Fenris replied before looking down. He kept his gaze down until he heard the door open and Kristoffer came in, glad to see Dorian.

“Ah Lord Pavus, I’m glad you’re here, I was worried you weren’t available to see serah Fenris with me,” the healer said with a respectful nod to Dorian. 

Dorian inclined his head slightly. “I was fortunate to be able to consult with Fenris’ husband Anders, who performed healing upon him. I surmised that his magic is fuelled directly from the Fade via the lyrium instead of from a mana pool that naturally refreshes itself with rest as is the case with all other mages, but that excessive use of magic stresses the lyrium - and without adequate nutrition and rest, the lyrium might instead begin to feed on his life force, as it were - much as when a mage overextends themself, then sometimes the magic will feed on the mage’s own life force once their mana pool is exhausted. Of course, spirit healers can elect to do this themselves but have a far greater degree of control than any other mage. Anders I believe was able to detect this stress upon the lyrium and performed spirit healing; Fenris has looked far better and restored since then.”

“I… see. That’s certainly wonderful news for ser Fenris. My talents do not lie in spirit healing, so that would never have occured to me.” Kristoffer glanced to the elf before looking back at Dorian.

“Do you wish to leave the infirmary this evening ser? Are you feeling up to it?” Healer Kristoffer asked.

“Yes, I ...feel much better than when I was brought in,” Fenris replied with a bit of a smile for the other man.

“Very well, I recommend you rest as much as you can, and when you feel up to it speak to someone at the College to enroll you so this doesn’t happen again. You may leave when ready.” He gave Dorian a bow, as well as Invictus and Fenris before leaving them alone once more.

“Mind if I walk back with you to your room, gentlemen?” asked Dorian. “I’m a little concerned for Anders after his collapse; I’d like to reassure myself he’s fine. Was it my imagination, or was Zevran really not himself earlier?”

“No, he wasn’t himself at all,” Vic said as they headed off to their rooms, dreading their return.

“Anders apparently made such a fuss he was locked up for a bit,” Fenris said as he walked next to Dorian, occasionally letting his hand brush against the magister’s as they went. Vic had slipped an arm around him, needing the comfort. 

“Locked up?” echoed Dorian. “I can’t imagine he handled that at all well, given how badly he reacted when Cullen locked him up a few years back.”

“Nope, not at all,” Vic said rather tersely as they went, unable to help himself.

Fenris remained quiet, deep in thought about how things stood with them all. He didn’t have anything useful to add he felt.

When they reached the room, they couldn’t see either Anders or Zevran at first. Frowning, Vic moved towards the sleeping area and realised Anders was deep asleep in the bed - and Zevran was sitting in the windowsill of the window in the sleeping area, a few feet to the right of the bed. One foot rested on the floor, the other dangled outside, and Zevran was resting with his back against the window frame, arms folded and head bowed.

Fenris hurried over to get Zevran out of the window and put him on the bed next to Anders. He scooped the elf up, not thinking about how he might react to being picked up suddenly. “Close the windows, Vic.”

Zevran jerked awake and lashed out unthinkingly, twisting out of Fenris’ arms as one hand grabbed for a blade.

“It’s me!” Fenris said as he backed away from the other elf, wary of him but not fast enough to avoid getting cut. Zevran’s eyes were tracking him blankly as the Antivan crouched, a knife in his hand as he stared at Fenris; he blinked, and seemed to slowly come back to himself, glancing around in confusion. 

“Fenris?” he said, dazedly, then stared at the knife in his hand as if aware of it only at that moment. He stared at the blade, then up at Fenris, a worried look in his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me. I was… worried you’d fall out the window since you were asleep. Stupid of me to to do, I know,” Fenris said as he felt the cut on his arm. “Dammit….” he added as he tried to heal himself since it was a shallow cut.

“Are you alright Zevran?” Vic asked as he got between them. 

Zevran let the knife fall then ran his hand through his hair slowly. “I...I dreamed....” He frowned slightly. “I had not meant to fall asleep. I felt someone lifting me but... it was as though it were part of the dream; I did not realise it was Fenris.” He looked up at Fenris, clearly worried. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

“I shouldn’t have picked you up, I know better but I figured better this than watching you fall to your death,” Fenris said as he took a seat so he could focus on closing the cut.

“I think you need to go back to sleep, but not where you’ll risk breaking your neck,” Vic said as he circled around them and wondered where Dorian had gone to.

Dorian had taken only a few steps into the room when he realised what was going on; he was standing by the table, having opted to keep well out of the way - particularly with Zevran obviously wildly disoriented and waving a knife around. As he heard Zevran dazedly responding to Fenris and Invictus, Dorian cautiously approached.

“Bit of an unexpected wakening, then?” he inquired as he stood just outside the sleeping area. He glanced at Anders; the blond mage had been undressed and lay in the bed on his back, fast asleep and oblivious to the other men. His face was still very pale, his chest barely stirring as he breathed.

“Will you let him put you to bed?” Fenris asked before glancing up to see Dorian. “Dorian and I have things to discuss but I’d rather you get put to bed properly.”

“I did not mean to fall asleep,” Zevran repeated. “I had intended to remain awake and watch over Anders until you returned, but... the sun was warm, the room was quiet and I suppose I was more tired than I had realised.” He picked up the knife and slid it back into its sheath. “I did not mean to hurt you, Fenris.” He cast a remorseful look at the other elf.

The warrior shrugged as he drew his hand away, the cut was closed but there was a fine scar there since he wasn’t good with healing. “I said I shouldn't have just picked you up without waking you but my fear overrode my common sense. Why don’t you lie down, you seem unsettled still,” Fenris said quietly before he rose to change into something more comfortable.

“I’ll stay and watch over both of them love. Go on and have fun with Dorian,” Vic said as he settled in with a book and got comfortable.

“Yeah, that’s the plan love,” Fenris replied as he tried to wash up and feel less gritty.

Zevran rose to his feet and slowly unbuckled his knife belt, setting it down on the dressing table before tugging his boots off, setting them aside neatly before slowly stripping down to just his pants, eyes distant in thought. He glanced up at Invictus, then stretched out on the bed next to Anders as the blond mage slept on. Zevran stared up at the underside of the bed canopy; after a few minutes, his eyes slowly drifted closed and he sank back into sleep once more.

“Go on, have fun and if you aren’t going to be back until morning please let me know Fen,” Vic said quietly.

“All depends on what happens _amatus_ , but likely I’ll return for breakfast,” Fenris said before giving his husband a gentle kiss and withdrawing to leave with Dorian to at least talk, if not more. 

**

When Fenris returned the next morning, he found Invictus and Zevran quietly breakfasting together as Anders slept.

“Is he still unwell?” Fenris asked as he joined them, glad food was there since Dorian was still half-awake though they’d had coffee before he’d left his _amicus_.

“He exhausted himself,” said Zevran quietly. “We could not rouse him, even though Invictus tried an Invigorate - we thought it best to let him sleep it off. He is still very pale and has not moved since I laid him in the bed yesterday afternoon.”

“I see...well hopefully the sleep will put him a better mood,” Fenris said as he made a plate and dug in.

“Maker so do I,” Vic added, as he glanced up at his first love but opted not to bring up how things had gone with Dorian for the Tevinter elf. 

“He was upset,” shrugged Zevran. “We all know that Anders does not take imprisonment well, hmm? He has always been claustrophobic, and those cells are small.” He seemed a little distracted, his eyes distant as he reached for his coffee.

“It seems you aren’t yourself yet either. Why don’t you lie down and rest with him?” Fenris suggested with a glance to Invictus.

“I tried that, swears he’s awake love,” Vic replied before nabbing another pastry. 

“I am not tired,” replied Zevran. “I do not need rest; I need....” He frowned a little, unable to articulate what it was he needed. It was hard to define; clarity of thought, perhaps, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him; only that he didn’t quite feel himself, and it were as though he were still half in dreams. He shook his head and instead focused on his coffee.

Fenris frowned but said nothing, he felt good for a change and didn’t want to ruin his mood with a fight before the noon bell. He finished off his coffee and headed off for a bath. “I might head to the College to see ...Dumat, Anders recommended someone to me about weapons I can use to channel my powers. I’ll try and remember before I leave,” he muttered.

“Enjoy love, I think I could use a nap myself, didn’t sleep well last night,” Vic replied as he gathered their dishes to set out for a passing servant. 

Zevran glanced to Vic. “I think I was half-aware of your restlessness,” he remarked thoughtfully. “But I was too far in sleep myself to move. I am sorry you were unable to rest.”

“So am I,” Vic muttered under his breath, glad Fenris wasn’t there to hear him being petty, sure the elf would have given him a kick for his sass.

“You are still tired, Invictus,” said Zevran quietly. “Perhaps it is you who might need rest? Lie down with Anders; there is nothing pressing you need do this morning, hmm?”

“I will, just need to put this tray outside,” Vic said as he rose and left the platter out, then stripped down to pants and fell into bed with a groan. 

Zevran finished his coffee, and sat there for a few minutes staring into space. Finally he came back to himself and sighed softly before he rose to his feet and made his way to the bathing chamber door. He knocked, hesitantly.

“Come in,” Fenris called out before dunking his head under to rinse off. He sat up and found himself a little surprised that Zevran had come in. “Something the matter?” he asked warily. 

Zevran leaned against the wall, just inside the door. “There is nothing wrong, I... merely wished to sit with you for a little while.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “But I can go if you prefer to be alone.”

“You can stay if you wish, I was just… surprised. I thought you might have gone back to sleep since you don’t seem fully awake,” Fenris said as he watched Zevran, slightly wary of the elf with the mood he was in; this strange half-aware existence worried him.

Zevran took the low stool that stood nearby and brought it over so he could sit beside the tub. He sat, and gave Fenris a small smile. “I would not be able to sleep,” he shrugged. “And I did not want to sit by myself as Invictus and Anders both sleep. I would rather be here with you.”

“I see....” Fenris replied before ducking under the water again for a brief moment. He wrung out his hair, glad it was shorter for the moment before washing. “What did you have planned today?” he asked carefully.

“I should seek out your son for another training session,” replied Zevran. “His knife-work has been slipping recently.”

Fenris kept quiet on the subject of Callus, he’d spoken with Pin but he and his son had yet to discuss things with all that had happened between them. He gave a noncommittal noise as he pondered draining the tub and soaking for a while. 

Zevran glanced at Fenris. “You look quite different with your hair so short,” he mused. “But I like it. It suits you.” He smiled again, then glanced away for a moment. “And you, what of your plans? Will you go to the College today?”

“I might, though after a hot bath I could nap as well,” Fenris replied quietly before deciding to drain the tub and have a soak, after all he was in no hurry. “Mind the water, I’m going to empty this out for fresh water,” he said as he got out and wrapped a towel around his waist while he worked. 

Zevran rose and stepped back out of the way, as Fenris emptied the tub into the drain. “You are still tired from yesterday, Fenris?”

“Somewhat, it's more the bath relaxing me that has me ready to lie down again,” the elf said as he filled the tub most of the way and got back in. He glanced at Zevran, not sure what to make of the other elf’s strange mood. “I think you should rest rather than chance knife work with my son. You don’t seem ...present,” Fenris added as he tried to relax. 

“Oh? How do I seem then?” asked Zevran, a little distracted as he stared at Fenris’ wrists. He could recognise the marks of rope well enough as anyone, and they were plain against Fenris’ skin. As his gaze wandered over Fenris’ body, it halted at the mark of teeth at Fenris’ shoulder and neck. Four sets of teeth marks, neat and sharply bruised. He glanced back to meet Fenris’ eye, and was silent.

“Distracted, half aware of who you are and where you are. That’s dangerous if you plan to train with anyone, or alone,” Fenris said a bit more sternly, hoping to get Zevran to pay attention.

“I am Zevran Arainai, former Crow and I am in Skyhold. With you,” he added. His voice was quiet and curiously flat. “I know who I am, Fenris. Now, more than ever.”

“So, thrown off Vic’s surname then?” Fenris asked as he glared at the blond elf. “It’s Arainai again, after all that you hated me calling you that?” he tacked on.

Zevran leveled a flat gold stare at Fenris. “Both you and Invictus have thrown that name at me repeatedly and often,” he replied, his voice cool and sharp with an undertone of pain. “You have both made it clear who you consider me to be. So. Yes, I reclaim my own name, after you have both denied the name of Hawke to me over, and over. Do not be surprised that you have done this - both of you.” He glanced away again.

“I see,” Fenris replied before reaching for one of the scented oils Vic had gotten for him and fell silent. He was determined not to fight again, but he wanted to yell, to tell Zevran to get out since he didn’t even seem to want Vic’s name after claiming he wanted it to work. Instead he closed his eyes and sat there stonily quiet.

“I do not wish to fight with you,” said Zevran, unwittingly echoing Fenris’ thoughts. “I should leave you to your bath, perhaps.”

“Whatever you wish Zevran, you said you wanted to sit here but if you’ve changed your mind I won’t stop you,” Fenris replied quietly.

“You do not appear to wish my presence,” replied Zevran, not looking at him. 

“I am working on not letting every wrong thought in my head out of my mouth, I’d think you’d be glad for that,” Fenris sniped before sitting up. “Besides, I think I’m done in here, this isn’t relaxing me like I’d hoped.” 

“Very well,” replied Zevran. He rose and returned to the main room. He glanced around for a moment; Anders and Invictus were both fast asleep. He crossed to his usual window seat. Checking the window was firmly fastened, he drew the curtain a little then curled up in the window seat, half hidden by the curtain as he rested his head against the glass and stared down at the people in the courtyard below through the diamond panes of glass.

He ought to feel sad, he thought. He and Fenris had fought again - even though that hadn’t been his intent when he sat down with the other elf. But there it was; Fenris was angry once more, it seemed. Where the sadness should sit was a numbness; he should be concerned about that, he knew - but somehow felt only apathy instead of worry or sadness. He was aware of a deep ache inside however, that felt worse when he pondered Fenris’ words.

Fenris came out eventually, wrapped in a towel as he rummaged for fresh clothes and frowned. They were quickly running out of their own things, and with his gained height and changes to his shape, he wasn’t able to find something around the Keep. He put his clothes back on and sighed before turning to Zevran.

“I need to go back to Nevarra for clothes, is there anything you need from there?” Fenris asked as he tied his boots.

“I need nothing, thank you,” said Zevran, not looking round. His tone had returned to that distracted, faint voice once more.

“Do you think I should get something for Anders then? After all, you were preparing to leave, correct?” Fenris asked as he stood and crossed to a spot he could easily teleport from. 

“I think he needed more clothes,” Zevran replied. “I don’t know if there is anything in her room that Wynne would want; her clothes will not fit her now.”

“Well she can make a portal if there is anything she wishes from the...house,” Fenris said with an odd hitch to his voice. “I’ll be back soon,” he said quietly.

“That is true,” Zevran nodded. “Very well. I shall still be here. After all, if I am not to train, either with Callus or alone, then I suppose I have nothing else to do and no real reason to go anywhere.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something to do, or just go train anyway,” Fenris said before disappearing in a flash of blue light. 

He landed in their yard, now overgrown with some things wilting and browning from neglect. He frowned at that but he didn’t want to deal with it in the moment. Fenris went to their room, got a few changes of clothes for himself and Anders, and his keepsake box, feeling he would need it for his own well being before things got better, if they did. 

After packing things in a large rucksack, he looked around the house a few more minutes, saddened by leaving it as it was. The state of it made the elf decide he would come back to clean it, even if it took him some time. It had been home, where he’d been happy for a while and he didn’t want it to fall apart, even if they wound up moving to Denerim. Fenris thought maybe Callus might want it, or even Pin, since she was married now. With a last sigh, he lit his brands and returned to find Zevran still in place, staring forlornly out the window. 

Fenris set Anders’ clothes next to him before leaving his on a chair and joining the other elf. “Hey, what is the problem? This is not like you and I’m worried.”

Zevran lifted his head and glanced at Fenris. He had no idea how long he’d sat there, staring out of the window; it seemed that Fenris had only just left, and yet he could tell by the colour of the sunlight and the lengths of the shadows in the courtyard that Fenris had gone for a couple of hours. He blinked, and managed a wan smile.

“I do not know,” he confessed. “I feel... strangely empty inside. And yet though I know that this should worry me, I... can’t. I do not understand it. I do not think I have felt anything like this before, except perhaps in the hours after I learned that Rinna was innocent... or when I thought Solona was dead. This emptiness... I cannot explain it.”

“I know this emptiness, but I’m not qualified to help you through it. Perhaps Anders should examine you when he wakes up?” Fenris offered.

“Perhaps... though I do not think this a physical malady,” replied Zevran quietly.

“Then what will help if anything from us?” Fenris asked quietly, his earlier anger pushed aside for worry for the other elf. 

“I wish I knew,” confessed Zevran. “Then I could at least ask it - but... like this?” Zevran sighed as he rested his head against the glass. “I understand better than before who I am; and yet I am still not fully myself. I think I should be frustrated but... there is a numbness, a lethargy of the spirit where my feelings should be.” He gave Fenris a faintly troubled look. “Do you think it is possible to feel _too much_ and then be exhausted inside, Fenris? Have you ever felt such a thing?”

“Yes, often when I was on the run from Tevinter, sometimes as I laid awake for years wishing I had not left Invictus after our first time together, sometimes when I was in that other world. I felt...disconnected from everything. Even as recently as when Pin went off at me, I just...felt like I stepped outside for a walk but I was still here. I still don’t know what made it stop, or if it’s just lying in wait for me to have another bad turn, or worse day for that lack of feeling to come back,” Fenris said quietly, his gaze troubled as he thought on those times.

“Disconnected... yes, that is what I feel. As though this were all some dream, and I were somehow apart from the world. Present and yet... not,” nodded Zevran. “But how did you overcome it?”

“Do you really want to know?” Fenris asked as he glanced at the other elf. “At least I can answer honestly for what I did in the other world, not so far back as Kirkwall. Flying around as a dragon won’t help you as it did for me recently.” 

“Ah,” said Zevran. “No, I fear such a method is beyond me.” He glanced over to the bed where Anders and Vic still slept. “Anders, no doubt could also take winged form and fly... but I have no magic.” He sighed. “When I was in grief for Rinna, it was Solona choosing to spare my life that brought me out of it. And when Solona appeared to die, leaving me alone... I do not think I fully came back to myself until I encountered you and Vic in those caves where you assisted with that little matter of those troublesome Crows. I laid my eyes on you, and I told myself, ‘Zevran Arainai, if the world can contain such beautiful men, then there is hope yet in the world, hmm?’ - and I was myself again. But... I do not know how I will awaken this time. And I should be worried by this... yet feel only... apathy.” He regarded Fenris with a mildly curious expression. “You understand, I tell you this because you have asked.”

“When I was in the other Thedas, I felt this way after the performance I had to put on after appearing to spare Zevran as Leto. It broke my heart, I...I…” Fenris took a moment to gather himself before he lost himself to the memories. “He was lost as you are, Dorian was angry with me… called me a bastard, and I hid away with a bottle and even that didn’t help me. I slept alone, cried myself to sleep a couple nights. But the Anders there, he treated me normally, like I wasn’t a freak, or another version of Leto...he let me be myself in a place where I felt like I was losing my mind Zevran. He let me just sit and be quiet, or be myself. He held me when I thought I was losing it entirely. I was ...I was ready to just throw up my hands, tell them all I wasn’t Leto and damn the consequences.That emptiness was why, but the other Anders saved me. Maybe our Anders can be that anchor for you again,” Fenris finished, hating that he felt a few tears on his face. 

Zevran leaned forward and gently wiped the tears away with a light swipe of his thumb. “I am sorry that I am causing you such worry and bringing back painful memories,” he murmured.

“It’s… it is what it is. Maybe now you can understand a bit more why I went to that Anders. He was all I had keeping me grounded. I was starting to think I wasn’t ever getting home to any of you,” Fenris said as he tried to keep himself together and not unload on the other elf.

“I think if you had been honest with me at the start and told me all, perhaps I would not have been so angry,” said Zevran thoughtfully. “Though I cannot speak for Anders or Invictus. I do not think that sex with someone different would heal what is wrong with me however, and if the way you and Invictus responded to my sleeping with myself is any predictor, I think seeking that out would only drive us all further apart.” He bowed his head for a moment. “Strange. The thought of you not believing that I was concerned for you yesterday had me almost wild with grief, and yet now I feel only a dull pang that the thought that Anders might go to Denerim and I might be the only one of us three to follow. I am sure I should feel more than this.” 

“You all were so mad, I was scared and ….” Fenris couldn’t help himself as he turned away and tried to get calm again before he dealt with things. “I’m sorry, this isn’t about me… it’s you we’re talking about but… it just came up and I never had a chance to deal with things and I’m scared Zevran, scared for us, scared of you. I’m sorry,” he rasped before he leaned over, trying not to just curl in a ball and cry.

“Scared... of me?” said Zevran, puzzled. “But I have not lifted my hand against you since the night Invictus told us of your dalliance with my other self. And that bottle... it was not aimed at you, Fenris. If it had been, then I would have hit you. I was... I was furious, yes, but it distressed me afterwards that I had lost myself that badly as to lose all self control. And now? Why would I lift a hand against you?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“It scared me, that you would even lose that much control. It’s stuck with me and every time you get angry or upset with me, I wonder if this will be the time you cut me again, or throw a bottle or worse now that you’re back to full health. You’ve never lost control like that aside from me doing wrong, so I am scared the next time might be the last time,” Fenris admitted quietly, unable to look at the Antivan.

Zevran stared at Fenris, feeling horror slowly creeping over him. “I would never kill you,” he whispered. “I would sooner kill myself than kill you, Fenris.”

“I keep pushing and hurting you, Zevran; at some point your patience will end,” Fenris said as he laughed darkly. “Even now, when trying to help you, we’re back at my problems. Just...let me sit with you if it will help. If I should leave you be, I’ll go,” he said before looking and seeing the horrified expression on the other elf’s face. 

“Do not go,” Zevran whispered. Now the numbness was accompanied by a stunned feeling of the floor having suddenly dropped out from beneath him.

“Ok… ok,” Fenris said as he moved to sit in front of Zevran, hopeful he could just be allowed to stay there with his head on the other elf’s knee, while he was quiet.

In a daze, Zevran reached for Fenris.

Fenris took his hand and cuddled up close to him, grateful to be with him for awhile. He let his eyes drift close as Zevran remained quiet, though he felt uneasy. Zevran’s fingers carded gently through Fenris’ short hair, stroking lightly as the Antivan stared into space, still stunned and numb.

Fenris didn’t fall deeply asleep, but he was comfortable as he sat there, a hand in his hair, the sun on both of them and a warm room. He half wondered if he’d change to a small dragon again; after all, it felt nice like when the other Anders had petted him. 

Invictus drifted awake a little while afterwards to the faint sound of Anders’ snores, the room otherwise silent, warm with the sunshine streaming through the windows. As he sat up, he saw Fenris lying with his head in Zevran’s lap, a content smile on his lips as he drowsed, whilst the Antivan stroked his hair, gazing into space blankly.

“Zevran?” Vic asked as he rubbed at his face and tried to finish waking up. “What happened while I was asleep?”

Zevran glanced at him, his gaze still distant. “We... talked. Fenris is... afraid of me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Vic asked as he got up and tried to get over to the two elves and not wake up the sleeping warrior. “That makes no sense.”

“We talked. Fenris said that he is afraid of me. That if he ever harmed me again, I would kill him. I....” He stared at Vic with troubled eyes. “Invictus, I would not do such a thing. The thought that I might kill -” He broke off, the look of horror crossing his face once more. “I could not,” he whispered. “That he might think such a thing of me....”

“I must still be asleep, because this makes no sense. He can snap all of us in half without a thought but he’s scared of you?” Vic asked wearily as he sat by Zevran and watched them. “It makes no sense for him to tell you he fears you then sit there like a damned cat while you stroked his head.”

“I do not understand myself,” confessed Zevran, looking rather lost. “I... do not know how to feel about this. I feel... numb, yet... horrified, disturbed, I....”

“Breathe, it will be ok, Zevran. Just breathe. When you aren’t feeling so shocked maybe you two should talk this out. Would that help you?” Vic asked quietly, not noticing the slight change in Fenris’ breathing as he woke up but kept still, eyes closed as he tried to stay where he was.

“I feel so hollow and wrong,” said Zevran faintly. “What... what is wrong with me?”

“A lot of emotional shocks, and no time to recover in between,” Vic said as he reached over for his other elven husband. “You should really lie down and rest,” he added.

“Perhaps you are right,” murmured Zevran. He glanced down at Fenris. “You are awake,” he realised.

“Once day I will be able to just be quiet without you realizing I’m awake,” Fenris groused with no heat as he opened his eyes and turned to Zevran.

Zevran shrugged apologetically. “I would be a poor assassin if I were not aware of such things,” he pointed out calmly, though with a distracted air about him still. 

“True.. but I….” Fenris shut up before he could say something to make things worse. “I think I should go to the College or back to the house and work on cleaning it up,” he finished instead.

“The house?” echoed Zevran, blinking in confusion.

“In Nevarra; it’s in disarray. Even if...even if we don’t go back, I don’t want it to fall to disrepair. Whatever I can’t manage, I’ll ask around in town for someone to fix it up. We’ve been gone a while Zevran,” Fenris said quietly before extricating himself and getting to his feet. 

Zevran bowed his head for a moment, a small frown creasing his brow. “Two... three months?” he guessed. “Yes... the damage from the demon would still be there....”

“Depending on what our plans wind up being, I’d like...I’d like permission to work on it so we don’t just abandon it. It was home to me after Skyhold,” Fenris said quietly.

“Love, you don’t need permission; if you need to do that, go on. Just come back and sleep here,” Vic said worriedly. 

“Why would you need permission?” asked Zevran, by now thoroughly bewildered.

“It seemed you ...didn’t want us to go back to the house, I didn’t know...I’m being stupid,” Fenris said quickly before almost fleeing from them to pour wine. He returned with a tray, took his glass and sat quietly before he could say anything stupid.

“Fenris, are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting strange, even for you,” Vic said as he sat the glass aside.

“I’m fine, totally fine. Anders healed me. I think I’m going to go see Varania, or Dorian, or just go fly,” Fenris said as he finished his wine too fast and acted as if he was going to go.

“Fenris - do not go!” exclaimed Zevran, lifting a hand as if to reach for the other elf before he hesitated.

“It’s alright...I just...I just got hit with a lot of ...feelings, and I don’t need to saddle you with them. After all, I was supposed to be helping you earlier,” Fenris said quietly.

“I... see,” said Zevran slowly, in a tone that suggested he didn’t see at all and was still bewildered by what was going on. The dazed look had returned to his eyes, and he glanced to Vic in confusion.

“I’m confused, you were ...you seemed fine when I went down for a nap earlier,” Vic said slowly.

“He and I talked, and I realized...that I hadn’t really dealt with being in the other world, or the fighting or ...how I felt but we started talking because I was worried about Zevran. I shouldn’t have made this about my feelings, but it just...came up and I couldn’t stop and I ...I don’t want to hurt you anymore, any of you Vicky,” Fenris finished softly, his head down so he wouldn’t just shatter.

Zevran was quiet, looking from Fenris to Vic; he seemed at a loss to understand what was going on. The sudden flood of Fenris’ feelings whilst he felt so hollow and empty seemed overwhelming, particularly after the revelation that Fenris was afraid of him. He gazed at Vic in mute appeal to make sense of it all.

“Let me take care of Zevran for a while, why don’t you go get us some food. And come back,” Vic said sternly to Fenris as he steered Zevran to one of the couches so they could sit and talk while Fenris was gone.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon.” The Tevinter elf left, glad to be away so he could compose himself.

Zevran sat quietly, still looking a little stunned. He looked up as Vic came to join him. “Someone... someone should wake Anders to eat, when food comes,” he said absently.

“Sure, but right now I’m concerned about you. You look like you did when Anders died, or when Solona died. You seem confused and uncertain, which… I thought part of getting through that was sleeping with the other you,” Vic said.

“I know now who I am,” said Zevran, his gaze unfocused. “But I feel as though I have gone through such an extreme of emotion that now... there is nothing. An emptiness inside. And though I should be concerned about this, I feel... nothing. An apathy of the mind, of my very spirit. I feel... as though I were walking in a dream, lost. Disconnected, as Fenris said.” He glanced to Vic. “I know there is something wrong with me,” he went on. “But I cannot put into words... I... how do I fix this? What is wrong with me? Fenris tried to help but then he said he was afraid of me, that I might kill him next time he angers me, and... and I cannot think, I... am lost.”

“I still can’t believe he said that, for Andraste’s sake,” Vic replied in annoyance. “I’ll talk to him about that, why don’t you lie down or have a drink with me hmm?” 

“A drink... yes, I would like a drink,” nodded Zevran. “I think... I am in shock?”

“I think so,” Vic said as he got the drinks Fenris had poured them, worried for the two elves. 

Zevran sipped his wine slowly, gazing at the unlit fire.

Fenris came back with a servant trailing behind him, both carrying trays; after the table was set, he called to Vic and Zevran. “Food and drink are here. Do you want me to wake Anders?” he asked quietly.

Zevran stirred, glancing at Fenris. “Yes... Anders should wake and eat,” he nodded.

“Alright.” The white haired elf almost hated to wake his husband but he’d been asleep for too long already as it was. Fenris shook his shoulder hoping he wouldn’t have to resort to getting Vic to use magic. “Anders… wake up, food is here and you should eat,” he said.

There was no response at first; Fenris shook his shoulder again, a little harder, and finally Anders’ eyelids flickered as he frowned slightly and made a vague, interrogative noise. It took him another couple of minutes before he finally opened his eyes, blinking sleepily up at Fenris.

“Oh... hello, love,” he murmured drowsily. “What time is it? How long have I been sleeping?”

“Since yesterday I think. Come on, there’s food and drink for all of us,” Fenris replied as he gently brushed hair out of Anders’ face and gave him a smile. “Missed you.” 

Anders smiled up at him sleepily. “How are you feeling now, love?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you for healing me,” Fenris said as he pulled Anders up and tried to chivvy him along. “Come on, we all should eat something.” 

Anders let himself be tugged to his feet; he stumbled towards the table, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Heya, Vic, Zev,” he greeted the other two men. “Maker, I’ve been so out of it.”

“Hey, a good meal will help with that I think,” Vic said as he got a plate together for the other mage and watched as Fenris reluctantly joined them. 

“Mmm, yes,” nodded Anders. “I’m starving.”

“You expended much of yourself to heal Fenris,” shrugged Zevran as he reached for his glass of wine. “You must recover that energy, no?”

Anders nodded. “You’re right; I’m guessing I must have crashed pretty hard after, then?”

“You awoke briefly after fainting,” shrugged Zevran. “But I had to ask help from a passing messenger to get you back here. You passed out the moment you hit the bed and did not stir even as I undressed you.”

“I don’t even remember getting back here,” Anders confessed before he started to eat. He wolfed the food down as though he were starving and ravenous - much as he had used to do when a Grey Warden.

Zevran said nothing, merely refilling Anders’ plate without a word. Anders nodded thanks as he continued to wolf down food, devouring the second plate only a little slower than he had the first. Zevran was eating his own food with rather less gusto.

Fenris ate slowly, not looking at anyone, quietly drinking until his plate was half empty. Which earned him a glare from Invictus.

“Eat; part of why you landed in the infirmary is because you weren’t taking care of yourself. Your magic ...you need to eat and drink properly so you don’t collapse again Fenris.” 

The elf didn’t argue, he simply pulled his plate back and resumed eating, though it was slow and forced. Fenris wouldn't look up at them, instead he just kept quiet as he ate.

Anders managed half of a third plate before his hunger was finally sated; he sat back with his own glass of wine and glanced around. Zevran was slowly finishing his own plate with about as much sign of enjoyment as Fenris.

“What’s been happening whilst I was asleep?” asked Anders.

“Not too much; we had breakfast, and Fen ran an errand or so while you slept. He’s ...not alright though, but that’s not my story to tell. Neither is Zevran, but I’m not feeling like an argument right now. I know Fen wanted to go to the College and see his sister, and he’s been cooped up in here a good part of the day already.”

“I can wait, Invictus, it's no bother,” Fenris replied softly before pouring himself more wine. 

“I need to go to the College myself,” replied Anders. “I meant to call on Parcival to see how he’s faring, and I need to talk to Wynne.” He looked to Zevran. “What’s up, Zevran? Must be serious if Vic’s worried about you.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Zevran replied quietly. “You have only just awakened and eaten. I can wait, yes?”

Anders frowned. “Zevran....”

“Parcival needs your attention far more than I,” shrugged Zevran. “He is still a-bed even now, which seems rather concerning, no?”

“Yes, very concerning,” nodded Anders. “But don’t go thinking I’ll forget about this, Zevran; you and I are going to have a talk when I get back, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“As you wish,” shrugged Zevran, before refilling his wine glass.

Fenris sat there, waiting for Anders to go so he could walk with him or linger instead and not deal with talking about how he’d made things worse.

Anders finished his glass of wine then rose. “I’d best get dressed then....” he headed over to the wardrobe to sort through clothes. “Oh! I was sure this robe was still back in Nevarra?” he exclaimed, fingering one in heavy black brocade in Orlesian style. “And these travel robes - I _know_ I didn’t bring those with me!”

“I brought us changes of clothes; I was out, and Zevran thought you might need more clothes as well,” Fenris said as he sat back with the last of his wine.

“Oh,” said Anders. “Th-thank you... yes, I _did_ need more changes of clothing. The stuff I wore on the journey to Adamant has been definitely showing signs of being rather well-worn.” He looked through the fresh garments Fenris had brought, and finally settled on a short dark blue robe of Tevinter style.

“You’re welcome Anders. Ready to go when you are,” Fenris said as he went to wait by the door, uneasy with Vic and Zevran being left alone together.

Zevran sat back with another glass of wine, his gaze distant once more. Anders was busy dressing swiftly before pulling a comb through his hair to tidy it. He tied it back into a ponytail again, then sat down to tug on his boots, lacing them up swiftly. He glanced up at the silence in the room and frowned slightly before bending to lace up the other boot. Then he rose and reached for his staff.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he nodded. He glanced over to Zevran and hesitated for a moment, then with a regretful look turned away and nodded to Fenris. “Shall we?”

Fenris caught the look on Anders’ face and gave him a sad smile. “Why don’t you stay with Zevran? I think I need to take a walk and think about...things. You and Vic can keep him company, he ...could use it I think,” the elf offered quietly.

Anders shook his head. “No, I was intending to go call on Parcival yesterday before... other matters arose,” he replied firmly. “Whatever ails Parcival, evidently he is still ill in bed over a week after healing me. That’s not normal - even for an overdose of lyrium. Zevran will be fine with Vic - but Parcival needs me more just now.” He opened the door and with a last glance back at Vic and Zevran he headed down the hallway.

Invictus looked up at the door opening, and was surprised to see Fenris lingering there in the doorway. “You still going love?” Vic asked

“I...don’t know,” Fenris answered before he looked at where Anders was headed.

“Go on, we’ll be fine Fenris,” Vic replied.

Anders had paused halfway down the hallway and was glancing back with a faint frown of confusion, wondering why Fenris was still hanging back by the door. For his part, Zevran appeared oblivious to what was going on. He was gazing towards the window, the glass of wine in his hand half-forgotten.

“Alright Vic,” Fenris replied before joining Anders. “Sorry about that,” he added as he joined his husband.

Anders gave him a curious look but continued on down the hallway, heading towards the main doors out of the keep. “Zevran should be fine with just Vic - after all, he _is_ as much Vic’s husband as yours or mine,” he remarked in a studiously even tone. “He wears _all_ our rings, and given that Zevran was waiting by your side in the infirmary when Vic brought me up out of that cell, presumably he and Vic must have talked. If they were fine together then, then I’m pretty certain Vic doesn’t need me with him now - and Zevran hardly needs babysitting, Fen. Whatever is up with him, I’m sure Zevran will be fine until we get back from the College.”

“Zevran fell asleep before you came up,” Fenris replied, feeling a bit stung by Anders’ remarks. “I offered to go for a walk because I could tell you were worried for him and thought you might want to stay with Zevran for a while.” 

“When Zevran and I tried to get in to see you, the healers refused to let us in. That Kristoffer was - he refused to believe that Zevran and I could be married to you as well as Vic! He refused to let us in! It was _him_ who called the damned guards on me and had me arrested, and the last thing I saw as they carted me off was him still refusing to let Zevran in. If Zevran had fallen asleep at your bedside by the time you woke up, it was because Vic must have talked to him and gotten him in, Fenris.” There was a look of anger in Anders’ eyes now, a tightness to his voice as he strode on, not glancing at the elf. “And both you and Invictus have snapped at he and I quite enough of late about the two of us being together. As I said, there is nothing physically wrong with Zevran. And you seemed to be in quite the hurry to go to the College right up until I was ready to leave - now all of a sudden you just want to take a walk when you know Parcival needs me as a healer?” 

Anders halted suddenly and turned to face Fenris. “Dammit, Fenris, you _know_ I owe the man my life! What is this about? Really? Because after this past week, I’m through with trying to play guessing games, frankly. Just tell me honestly - what is this all about?”

“I was just trying to be out of the way, I wasn’t trying to rush you Anders,” Fenris replied, his gaze averted as he spoke. “I saw the way you looked at Zevran, there was nothing more than offering if you wanted to stay with him, no games. I’m sorry for causing confusion, if you wish I’ll walk you to the College still.” 

Anders stared at Fenris, then slowly shook his head. “I wish I knew just where I stood with you, Fenris,” he said quietly. “I wish I could trust - that I could just take your words at face value, that it’s fine for me to stay with Zevran. But I... I don’t dare take the chance that this would have become yet one more thing for you to get jealous about and fling in my face the next time you get angry. I wish - I _wish_ I could just accept that... but I know from bitter past experience just how that’s likely to turn out. Do you - do you realise what you’ve done? You and Vic?” Anders’ eyes glimmered for a moment and he turned away slightly, glancing aside as he blinked rapidly for a moment. “You’ve both harped on so much about how Zevran and I always seem to pair off now that... that I’m almost afraid to go near him again, for fear of giving you both further ammunition against me - or worse, against _him_. You’ve - you’ve got me walking on eggshells, begging for forgiveness and - Maker, I can’t do that, Fenris. I just need honesty - just... just a little honesty here. Please?” 

Fenris looked up at Anders, his own eyes bright as he stared at the blond. “I was being honest, I sincerely wanted you to go to Zevran because of how you looked at him.” He kept staring at the blond as he fought the urge to throw his rings at Anders and give up. Instead he just kept eye contact as he finished his thoughts. “Do what you want Anders, don’t be afraid to go to Zevran if you want or need to. I tried being better, and you doubt me. So ...just do what you want, don’t worry about walking on eggshells around me or Invictus. I’m going to take a walk, I need to think about what you’ve said. I hope Parcival will be alright soon.” He turned and headed away from Anders before he lost his temper with the blond.

“Fenris!” called Anders, his voice echoing back down the hall. “I doubt you just as much as Invictus doubted _me_ when he fetched me out of the cells - and with far greater cause! You want me to believe your word, then you better show me you’ve changed. Stop expecting me to take your word for it when you’ve broken it to me so many times before. I need more than words, Fenris.”

He turned and strode away swiftly, before the elf could see the tears running down his face.

Fenris watched him go before he lit his brands, went to the house in Nevarra and sat in his office, unable to do more than think about what Anders had said before leaving him to check on the other mage.


	39. Chapter 39

Anders returned from the College four hours later, weary and alone. He let himself back into his quarters silently, closing the door quietly behind himself before he glanced around. Zevran was lying curled up asleep on the bed, Invictus sitting in a chair nearby, reading. As Anders glanced around, he realised there was no sign of Fenris and his heart sank.

He set his staff by the door and made his way over to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a drink; his fingers paused on the top of the bottle of brandy before he reached for a bottle of spiced Orlesian red that Anders just knew had to have been put there by Zevran at some point. He bit his lip, then cracked it open to pour himself a large glass.

“Hello, love,” he said without turning, striving for a casual tone. “Fenris not back then?”

“No, I thought he was with you?” Vic said with a raised brow at the question.

Anders took a fortifying sip of his wine before turning and giving Vic a weary smile. “No, he said he was going to go for a walk instead of the College. I really needed to go see Parcival so....” He sighed. “Just as well I did, really. Damned fool idiot didn’t tell us he’d already pulled a full day on the most difficult cases over at the infirmary before assisting Dorian with his potion. In addition to the eight vials of lyrium Dorian apparently fed him whilst healing me, he’d already had six that day. How he was even living after fourteen vials of lyrium in twenty hours I have no idea. He’s bloody lucky to be alive. No wonders he’s been stuck in bed for the past week.”

He made his way over to the sleeping area and glanced down at Zevran for a moment pensively before glancing back to Vic. He glanced down to the book. “What are you reading?” he asked. “Not bedtime stories, I’m assuming.”

“Nothing of consequence really, I haven’t been concentrating the last hour anyway,” Vic replied as he watched Anders. “What happened?” he asked, sure something had transpired to make Fenris leave instead of walking the mage as he’d offered.

Anders’ smile became lopsided and wry. “What do you think?” he said bitterly. “Another argument. Of which I am so heartily tired. I asked him to be honest with me about why he seemed so insistent suddenly that I stay with Zevran when he knew Parcival’s been in bed ill for a week now, and apparently I ought to know better than to question his motives for anything. I stay with Zevran, I get shouted at. I don’t stay with Zevran, I get nagged at. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, and - Maker, I’m just... I wish that one day I could trust that I won’t just be storing up future trouble for myself by just taking something he says at face value, Vic, because I am so heartily tired of walking on eggshells around him.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he added. “That and then a difficult session trying to mitigate the damage Parcival’s done himself has left me exhausted and short of cope. Parcival’s bloody lucky he didn’t burn out his magic or end up dead, and he had me badly frightened - and the past few days already had me rattled.”

“I see,” Vic replied carefully, forcing himself to stay calm. “Glad to hear about Parcival,” he replied as he watched Anders for a hint of what else could have happened.

“Fenris was walking back in this direction when I carried on to the College,” Anders said as he reached for a chair and tugged it over to sit down. “I take it he didn’t show up back here then?”

“I said I thought he was with you,” Vic replied in that same tone. “Hopefully he’ll return soon.”

Anders shrugged. “Maybe he went for the walk he was talking about. Or went flying.” He took a sip of his wine then glanced at Zevran for a moment before glancing away, a wistful look in his eyes. “I don’t know where he went. And no way of following him to wherever he’s gone. Though if he hasn't taken the ring off, you could call him on that?” He smiled sadly. “He probably won’t want to hear my voice.”

“Why would that be Anders? What happened now?” Vic asked tersely. 

“I told you,” said Anders tiredly. “Another fight. And after all, both you and he made it clear you didn’t think I actually care about him anyway. I had to beg you, apologise, before you would take me to him. But that means nothing to him, I guess.” 

“I...didn’t ask you to beg to see him Anders,” Vic replied. “After Zevran said he loves him less, and you haven't made it a secret you feel safer with Zevran, why shouldn’t I be surprised you came to see him? You had just stormed off angry at both of us before a stretcher came for him and you didn’t come with me. I got Zevran in when I found him pacing and came for you when he told me they’d arrested you. If I didn’t care I would have left you there Anders. You just said you’re short tempered and now you’re going in on me when I was waiting on you to come back, both of you?” 

“And why was Fenris even asking Zevran that question?” exclaimed Anders, incredulously. “Asking Zevran to quantify how he feels about one of us compared to another - and _knowing_ how much he’s been hurting Zevran! Marriage isn’t a bloody popularity contest, Vic!” He shook his head. “And I was _right here in this room_ when the stretcher arrived, Vic. So no, I _didn’t_ bloody ‘storm off’, as you put it!” He shook his head slowly. “This is exactly the same bullshit that Fenris pulls on me _all the damned time_ , Vic - is it any wonder I don’t know where the hell I stand with either of you? I stay with Zevran, it’s an issue! I _don’t_ stay with Zevran, it’s still a bloody issue! You asked - I was _telling_ you, I wasn’t attacking you, Vic - but you took it upon yourself to snap at _me_ , then turn it around to be my fault!”

He got to his feet and started pacing. “I told you I was on edge. I told you I’d just had another fight with Fenris. And that fight was _not_ my fault, but I bet I’ll be expected to apologise for that one too. And now I’ve got you determined to throw a load of stuff at me that’s _not_ the way things happened, and once again now I don’t even know what’s true, what’s not, and I’m scared of saying anything else at all because _one_ of you will use it against me and - and -” He broke off and pressed a hand over his mouth, his chest heaving for breath.

“It’s just like Kinloch and the templars all over again,” he whispered, choked. “I don’t even know what to say for fear of setting everything off again.” There was a haunted, miserable look in his eyes.

Invictus went to the drinks cabinet, poured himself a drink and settled on the couch before he could say something that he couldn’t take back. He’d call Fenris after he was calmed down. 

Anders retreated to his chair again, his hand pressed back over his mouth once more, the wine glass held in his other hand as if forgotten. That hand was trembling badly as Anders sat there, rocking ever so slightly as he blinked back tears, trying to stop himself hyperventilating. Beside him, Zevran slept on, oblivious to all that had transpired only feet away from him.

Invictus glanced at him, not wanting to speak but not wanting to walk out and cause another row. Instead he took the wine glass before it could fall and waved at the bed. “You should lie down; you don’t look well, Anders.”

Anders jerked, startled, as he felt the glass being taken from his hand; he darted a glance up at Vic before looking away again. He looked at the bed, at Zevran, and bit his lip. Then he rose from the chair and made his way around to the far side of the bed. He climbed onto it and laid down in the middle before inching closer to Zevran. He darted a nervous glance up at Vic before glancing at the sleeping Zevran, then curled up miserably and closed his eyes.

“Just lie next to him, I’m going to go back to my book,” Vic said before pulling the curtain behind him and sitting while he debated trying to reach Fenris or letting him be for a while longer.

Anders opened one eye as Vic moved away; he waited for a few minutes after Vic had sat and opened his book, then slowly inched over to spoon against Zevran and wrap a hand around the Antivan’s waist, burying his face in Zevran’s hair.

Zevran stirred slightly, his eyes drifting half-open as he patted Anders’ hand sleepily then closed his eyes again, sinking back into sleep.

Invictus read for a while, until he dozed off in the chair, not waking until the next morning, and Fenris was nowhere to be found.

**

Fenris had spent the night in their old house, sleeping but not well. He’d woken up early on and decided to return to Skyhold, where he found Invictus asleep in the chair by the fireplace, his book dropped by his feet as he’d fallen asleep. Fenris curled up on one of the couches and watched the fireplace, eventually falling asleep as well, fearful of what would happen when they were all awake. 

He opened his eyes a couple of hours later to find everyone was still asleep, so the elf found Anders’ book he’d broken, taking it in for rebinding, and returning to sit at the small table, writing down his thoughts as he waited for someone to wake up. He decided to leave a note for them, and to find his sibling so they could talk. 

The elf took a seat, and focused as his sibling had taught him, seeking out the match to his own lyrium until he felt it, a match far off. He lit his brands and realized he was on the docks again. He followed the pull until he’d found the feel of Aeolus nearby.

He found himself outside an inn - the “Drunken Seagoat” from the sign swinging outside, the paint faded from wind and sea salt; as he pushed his way into the inn, a smell hit his nostrils and he fervently hoped the goat in question wasn’t in the dubious stew being wolfed down by some nearby sailors who were no doubt glad for a fare other than the salt cod and hardtack they’d been eating since the Wounded Coast.

Aeolus was seated on a stool at the bar, frowning at the papers in his hands as the barkeep set a foaming tankard near at hand; he nodded thanks without looking up from the shipping manifest in one hand and the merchants’ chits in the other hand.

“Hello, Leto,” he said quietly without looking up as Fenris drew nearer.

“Hi brother, mind if I sit with you?” Fenris asked as he waited for his sibling to look at him.

“Go ahead,” nodded Aeolus. “I’ll be with you in a moment - Isabela asked me to deal with these orders for our cargo manifest before the ship docks - she’s due to arrive with the ship in two days.”

“Thanks,” Fenris said as he took a seat and watched quietly as Aeolus worked. He was glad just to be with his sibling for a while. He watched as Aeolus wrote quickly but neatly, admired his penmanship as he watched his older brother go through the stack in short order.

Finally Aeolus set down the final order sheet on top of the stack. He capped the small bottle of ink and packed away the ink and pen in a small wooden box before neatly tying up the bundle of manifests and orders, and stowed everything away in a large leather satchel down by his feet. he took a long pull of his tankard and finally turned to Fenris.

With one eye gone, the ruined mess covered by a black leather eyepatch, Aeolus had to turn his head to look at Fenris properly. “So, what brings you to Denerim?” he asked.

“I missed you brother, and wanted to see you. Since you’re here, I also wanted to ask about living here in Denerim,” Fenris asked as he looked over his sibling, angry with Meneris now that he’d seen the mess the other elf had made of his brother’s face.

“Thinking of moving here, were you?” asked Aeolus, arching his eyebrows slightly in surprise. “Well, it’s a busy city, though different in feel to Kirkwall. Healthier, somehow. It had its troubles during the Blight, as did pretty much all of Ferelden - but they rebuilt, and it’s pretty vibrant and bustling now. Not so busy but what a man can’t find space and time to breathe though. Work for mercenaries if wanted; there’s always merchants passing through to and from the docks, cargo loads that want guarding and the like. And pretty much anything for sale from almost anywhere in Thedas - for a price. Good place for mages to live, too; since King Alistair and Queen Anora enacted reforms of the Circle earlier than anywhere else and brought in Anders’ College system it’s been much easier for mages to live openly in the community - though that’s always easier in the more cosmopolitan cities like Denerim and Highever, Amaranthine and the like, of course.” 

He took another sip of his ale as he regarded Fenris thoughtfully over the rim of the tankard, then set it down. “So, what gives - have you all grown tired of Nevarra, then?”

“I haven’t.but Zevran tracked down Anders’ cat from his Warden days, and the caregiver is here. He and Zevran don’t want to return to the house, and I don’t know how Vic feels about it. I don’t want to come here but...that ...it seems the decision was made to come here once our counterparts are gone,” Fenris said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Well, Anders did live here in Denerim for a time during one of his escapes,” shrugged Aeolus. “Isabela told me that she first met him whilst he was hiding out in the Black Pearl. And Zevran passed through with Solona during the Blight, of course. It’s familiar to them both. And they’d both do well here, I have to say - a talented healer will always have work in any city, after all; and there’s always contracts for a skilled assassin.” He eyed Fenris thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re not happy about it though? What’s wrong with Denerim - and why the decision to move, anyway? I thought the plan was to return back to the Nevarra house, fix up the demon damage and so forth?”

“So did I, but then Zevran found Anders’ cat for him and then it was ‘let’s move to Denerim’,” Fenris said as he eyed Aeolus’ drink, wishing he had one as well. “I don’t understand it but neither of them want to come back to the house in Nevarra, even to sleep when we’re on top of each other in Anders’ rooms in Skyhold. Of course me not being happy about it has been a thing. But at the rate we’re going, we won’t be married much longer anyway,” he added tiredly.

Aeolus gave him a level stare, then glanced over to the barkeep and nodded to the man. A moment later, a second tankard of ale was set down in front of Fenris. Aeolus waited until Fenris had taken a drink before he spoke.

“Seems there’s rather more going on that you’ve told me,” he said slowly. “I remember how Zevran waited with me three nights at Adamant - all he would talk about was you. Dumat, the heart attack Anders had there was caused by him realising that the other Leto wasn’t you! Sounds like I wasn’t the only one going slowly mad in Adamant before I came to my senses and got out of there - though not before Meneris took my damned eye.”

“I’ll have a word with Meneris over that when I get back,” Fenris replied angrily before taking another sip and telling his brother all that had transpired since his return, even about his infidelity. “I’m tired brother, tired of attempting to do better and being told I’m not trusted. Or loved like I used to be. I know it's my fault but if everything I do and say will be second and third guessed, I don’t even want to try. I was going to ask to join you on the ship but ...I realized that if you told me no, getting rejected would just put me in a worse place so I decided against it. I just ...I hate everything right now,” the younger elf admitted.

Aeolus had been sipping at his ale as Fenris told the whole story, but by halfway through he’d set the tankard down and was simply staring at Fenris in slowly growing disbelief.

“Dumat, Leto!” he exclaimed finally. “What a mess you’ve made. I’m not surprised that you’re being second- and third-guessed - it’s been less than two weeks since you returned, and in that time it sounds like it’s just been fight after fight between the four of you! _Venhedis_ \- you won’t fix this by giving up and not even bothering when the others are only reacting to what you’ve said and done! You don’t get to behave like that and then complain about the consequences - you stay and fix them!” Aeolus shook his head as he stared at his brother. “You’ll leave Meneris alone too - I don’t need you seeking retribution on my behalf. Trust me, Isabela’s more than taken care of that. Stop storing up more trouble for yourself and leave well enough alone there.” He frowned at Fenris. “And you’re right - I wouldn’t take you on as a crewmate - you get seasick and you’re lousy at taking orders; you’d be a liability to yourself, never mind the rest of the crew - and you’ll solve none of your problems by running away to sea, trust me. Isabela and I have dealt with far too many greenhorns who made that mistake.”

Fenris looked away so his brother couldn’t use the way his face fell at being chastised. “I know it’s my fault Aeolus, believe me. I didn’t need you dumping on me like that after I simply told you things were my fault and how sideways things have gone. Thanks for listening, and reinforcing how I’ve fucked up, which I am very, very aware of. Enjoy the rest of your day, I’m going back to Skyhold.” He slid a couple coppers over for his drink and headed towards the door.

“Leto,” called Aeolus behind him. “Ditch the ‘poor me’ act. You’ll find it easier to patch things up when you stop obsessing over how _you_ feel. You’re not the injured party here. Took me long enough to figure that one out myself; don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“I’m not _obsessing_ over how I feel. I said, I know it’s my fault; you didn’t have to rub that in my face when I’m aware of it. I asked you how it is living here since we’ll be here eventually, if we don’t wind up splitting. If I must live here, I want to know what to expect; that was all.” Fenris glared at him for a long moment before turning to go, angry and upset with himself thinking he could even talk to his brother without being reminded of how he’d broken things. He headed off to a spot where he could teleport back without drawing undue attention, landing in the hall outside their rooms. After trying to settle himself, he went in ready for whatever happened.

Anders was still asleep, cuddled up against Zevran’s back, his face hidden in the Antivan’s hair with one arm curled around Zevran’s waist. Zevran himself was stirring sleepily, his eyes half-open and glazed with sleep as he rubbed them with a hand clumsily. He glanced over at the windows, trying to work out the time from the colour of the light.

Fenris didn’t go to him, he just took a seat and watched Zevran, unsure what would happen when the elf fully awoke, or Anders did. He glanced up as Invictus came out of the bathing chamber in a fresh robe and toweling off his hair.

“Hey, did you find your brother?” he asked quietly.

“Unfortunately; I should’ve known better than to talk to him,” Fenris replied bitterly. “How are things this morning?”

“Quiet, neither of them is up and Maker knows what will happen when they are,” Vic replied.

“I don’t think this will work Vic; no matter what I do, I’ve broken things and anything I try to do is doubted. I don’t think we’ll make it through this year he asked of us,” Fenris admitted.

“That makes two of us, but if we don’t at least try is it fair to give up now?” Vic asked him. 

“Why try? I’m not trusted or loved as much by either of them. They seem surprised I was surprised to see them try and visit me in the infirmary, after all that’s happened. I’m just tired, Vic. I want to go back to Nevarra; _that’s_ home for me, not Denerim. I’d even go back to Tevinter if it was possible, but I don’t want to move,” Fenris admitted.

“Why?” Vic asked, wondering where this was coming from.

“It wasn’t something we all discussed. It was ‘let’s go to Denerim so Anders can be with his cat’ because Zevran found out the thing was still alive. Every damn thing is a fight now, and I’m sick of it. I just want to go home and I don’t know where that will be,” Fenris said quietly. 

Zevran had steadily become awake through Fenris’ diatribe, and he lay silently listening, a small frown on his face. He felt Anders stirring behind him, the mage disturbed by Fenris’ voice; he pressed his hand against Anders’ warningly, and felt Anders grow still. He knew from the sound of Anders’ breathing that the mage was listening now, just as he was.

“Then what do you want to do Fenris?” Vic asked warily.

“What I want is to fix up the house in Nevarra like we’d talked about. What will happen is we’ll move to Denerim and see if this can be saved, which I highly doubt right now. What I want is for me to have some say in things, some bit of say rather than ‘let’s just move to Denerim’ without really discussing it, just ‘I’m going to go prep for this move that is going to happen whether or not you agree’. I don’t even know how you feel about it, Vic,” Fenris said as he tried to stay calm.

“Denerim is as good a place as any. If things don’t work out, then we are in a better place to move to somewhere we want rather than trying to start over from Nevarra. I want things to work out, though damn me if if seems like it will work even with this year deadline. I am from Ferelden, love, its not as if it's a strange country to me,” Vic said as he took Fenris’ hand in his. “What’s the real problem here?”

“Why, so you can lay into me too? Remind me how it’s all my fault when I’m bloody well aware of that? I’m sick of being told it's my fault like I don’t know that. Like I don’t hate myself for what I’ve done to you all. I try to do the right thing, suggest Anders and Zevran spend time together, and I get yelled at. I don’t rein in my feelings, and show that I’m just a bit jealous and I get yelled at. I don’t know what to do anymore not to be yelled at or told I’m loved less or not trusted. I fucking know that Vic, but if any move I make isn’t enough to start healing tell me how the Void can this get better?” Fenris fell quiet, his gaze on his rings as he debated taking off Anders’ and Zevran’s rings until things were resolved or he didn’t feel as conflicted but knew it would just kick off another fight, maybe their last one.

“I’m not going to lay into you, Fenris, trust me. I don’t know what to do either, but I’m here at least. You left again, and I was alone with them, when I’m at a loss too. You want to make this work, stay and talk,” Vic asked.

“I wasn’t prepared to hear what Anders told me, Vic; that hurt. It hurt no less knowing I’d done this but it still fucking hurt. I’m just tired and heartsick; I want things to work too, but right now? I don’t even think _they_ do, and just like Anders says he doesn't know where he stands with us? Damned if I know either. So here we are, another day of this,” Fenris finished bitterly; his expression was exhausted, and if he was honest with himself, he just wanted to lie down and sleep so he couldn’t cause any more problems.

Anders sat up slowly; Zevran glanced up at him then pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed as Anders moved to join him, one hand around the elf’s waist and his head resting on Zevran’s shoulder, a miserable look in his eyes as they both stared silently over at Fenris as the elf paced. Zevran glanced over at Vic, then back at Fenris. 

“What do we do?” whispered Anders very softly to the Antivan.

“ _Mi cuore_ , I am not sure there is anything we _can_ do,” replied Zevran, equally softly.

Invictus glanced up and saw their other two husbands sitting up. “Anders, Zevran...will you join us please since you’re awake?” 

Fenris remained silent, his gaze on the table rather than the others in the room. At this point, he figured it would be better to just go along and be quiet.

Anders and Zevran exchanged a glance then rose from the bed. Anders parted the thin curtain for Zevran, then followed him out into the main part of the room to come and stand beside him as they regarded the other two in silence for a moment.

“Well?” said Anders finally after a moment. 

“I’m guessing you heard some of that, and I want to put it out there that I want it to work and I’m fine with the move to Denerim. I think Fenris is fine with it but not expressing himself well,” Vic said quietly.

“I do want it to work and I’ll move to Denerim. I found that it’s nice there when I spoke with Aeolus earlier,” Fenris said quietly, still looking down at the table. 

Zevran stirred slightly. “By your own words, it sounded to me as though you doubt things can work between the four of us,” he said quietly. “Anders only awakened towards the end but I heard it all.” He fixed Fenris with an unreadable look. “It seems that Fenris does not like the consequences of his actions, hmm?”

“If you heard all that, then you know I am incredibly aware of the consequences of my actions. I don’t like what I have done to you and Anders and I want it to work. No I don’t like it but because I hurt you all. I’m sick of being beaten over the head with how it's my fault, I know that. I want to make it better but maybe we could stop reminding me every damn time you can do so. Why can’t you let me try even once and go from there? I do want it to work, but right now I feel just a bit discouraged. How many ways can I say I want it to work before you even let me try?” Fenris asked tiredly. 

“Love, take a breath and think about what you’re saying. Just try to think about it, because I think it’s part of the problem,” Vic said gently.

“Go on Vic, tell me what else I’m doing wrong,” Fenris said tersely.

“You’re stuck on how they are reacting, rather than what you can do. Why don’t you just listen to them and actually listen and not get angry or upset with them if you want this to work?” Vic asked.

“Fine, go on then and tell me,” Fenris said as he tried to not be defensive, and listen to them.

Anders swallowed hard; Zevran slipped his arm around his waist and murmured something softly to him. Anders nodded, biting his lip, before turning back to Fenris.

“When we argued on the way to the College... you were angry, because I couldn’t just take you at your word. That I second-guess everything around you. You’re angry with me for being wary around you. But I’m only that way because... because you’ve given your word before and broken it so often. All I have to go on is my experience of the past, and that... that experience? Is that I can only trust your actions, not your words. And every time I’ve reacted in some way to something you’ve done that’s hurt me... you react with anger and blame me for it, and... and that makes me wary, Fenris. I _can’t_ just take your word for it, because if I’m honest with you and don’t second-guess my reactions... it’s me who gets hurt again, and I... I can’t take that, Fenris. Not any more.”

“Alright,” Fenris replied evenly, his gaze dropping back to the table. “And you, Zevran?” he asked as he stared down.

“You blame me for loving you less,” said Zevran softly. “You think that you can hurt me over, and over, and over again and that somehow this will have no effect upon me. And you blame me when there _is_ an effect. You complain that we keep reminding you - but that is because whilst you _say_ you understand it is your fault, you do not _behave_ as though it were your fault - as if one admission that you did wrong should suddenly make all the consequences of what you did, including how you have made others behave towards you, just suddenly go away. But hearts do not forget, Fenris; they do not mend with one admission of guilt; and when you punish us for being hurt, that only hurts us yet more. So. Yes, we feel we must remind you, because if you truly understood the consequences of your actions, then you should have more understanding when we have reacted to that. And if your reaction to my telling the truth is to throw your hands up and decide not to bother further... well, actions speak louder than words, Fenris. And when you say you want to fix things but then give up because this takes time and we are not behaving the way you want us to... that tells us that perhaps you do not wish to fix them as much as you say you do.”

“Fine, then I’ll show you rather than say anything further on it. Since my word means nothing, either give me a chance to show you or not,” Fenris replied in that flat tone he took on when he was trying to maintain control of his emotions. He didn’t want his magic to go out of control either.

“Love, don’t take that tone or speak in that slave voice with us, please,” Vic asked as he put an arm on Fenris’ shoulder.

“It’s this or my magic goes out of control because I’m upset. I’ll work on things, and do rather than speak,” Fenris replied quietly. “So going forward, I’ll show you,” he said finally, shrugging off Vic’s touch. “I took your book to be repaired, it should be done by now; so if I may I will go fetch it, Anders.”

“Thank you,” Anders said quietly.

“May I go get the book for you, Anders?” Fenris asked.

Anders nodded. “Y-yes... please,” he answered, his voice a little fainter. He was staring at the ground himself now; Zevran was staring up at him worriedly.

Fenris left silently, retrieved the book and returned directly to them, offering the repaired book to his husband. “The repair was quick.” 

Anders was sitting on one of the couches, Zevran standing beside him with one hand resting comfortingly on the blond mage’s shoulder. Anders accepted the book back and ran his hands slowly over the book’s cover, then murmured quietly, “Thank you, Fenris.”

“You’re welcome, Anders.” Fenris waited to see if there was anything else that was wanted, else he planned to sit and resume writing.

Zevran sat down next to Anders, reaching a hand to touch the book; Anders surrendered it to him and Zevran ran his eyes over the cover then turned it to look at the spine.

“The binder has done a very fine job, and so quickly too,” he observed. “I would not have thought it had ever been damaged.”

Anders took the book back and opened it to leaf through it carefully, gazing at all the familiar poems, smiling faintly at each favourite before finally closing the book and cradling it to his chest, his head bowed.

“Do you require anything else?” Fenris asked quietly while Invictus watched him carefully. He knew Fenris well enough to realise he was holding back and not speaking up.

Anders shook his head wordlessly. Zevran gazed at him, troubled. 

“No, Fenris; neither he nor I require anything just now,” the Antivan finally said.

“As you wish, do you mind if I stay and write or do you wish me to leave?” Fenris asked softly.

Anders’ lips parted then he hesitated and glanced to Zevran, who nodded at him as though to say ‘go ahead’. Anders drew a breath. “I - I think I’d like a little peace and - and space,” he finally managed, hesitantly.

“Is that permanent or just for a few hours? I can go back to Nevarra if you wish and remain there until people want to have me around,” Fenris replied in that same flat tone.

“Just - just for a few hours,” Anders said quietly, his voice almost empty of colour.

“As you wish, Anders,” Fenris said before leaving them and heading to Nevarra, to work and think on whether or not he wanted to continue with the marriage. 

Once Fenris was gone, Invictus looked up, wondering if he was to be sent off as well. “Does that mean me too?” he asked quietly.

“I... please?” whispered Anders. “Just... just for a couple of hours?”

“I...see,” Vic said before heading off to walk off his own emotional upset. He didn’t like it at all but they’d already had a hard start to the day, but he wasn’t really up to further discussion. 

**

Fenris waited five hours before returning to the room. He entered to find Invictus gone and Anders asleep in the four-poster bed, the curtains nearly all closed save for one on the side of the bed facing the room. He glanced over to see Zevran sitting by the other man, quietly working on his knives.

The Antivan had spread several of his blades on one knee and was working through them one at a time. He glanced up briefly as Fenris reappeared, before returning his attention to the knife in his hand. He was halfway through rebinding the hilt with black cord.

“Anders has a bad headache,” he said in a low voice. “He needs to sleep. We must keep our voices quiet.”

“I can leave; after all, he wanted peace,” Fenris offered.

Zevran shrugged. “You need not leave if we are both quiet,” he replied, his voice soft. “He needs darkness and quiet to sleep off the worst of it and allow the elfroot he took to work. He cannot abide to be shut in however - hence, this side of the bed is not quite closed. Invictus went for a walk some time ago; I am not sure where he is now however. I did not wish to leave Anders entirely unattended in case he needed someone.”

“I didn’t say you leave, I offered to leave again,” Fenris said as he glanced at the blond, keeping the comment that popped in his head to himself.

Zevran sighed very quietly. “You misunderstand me,” he said after a moment. “I merely meant that I do not know where Invictus has gone, and I would go look but I did not want to leave Anders alone.”

“Well he won’t want to wake and see me, so hopefully Invictus will return. If you don’t mind, I will sit, be quiet and write,” Fenris replied.

“By all means,” replied Zevran as he bent over his knife once more, continuing to wind the cord carefully and evenly, occasionally glancing up at Anders as the blond mage slept on, his face turned away towards the shadows.

Fenris went to the small table and picked up the paper, and wrote quietly, his thoughts getting darker as he wrote, spiralling into his self hatred for where they were. He was deep into it until he heard his name called.

“Hey, you ok Fenris?” Vic asked as he glanced at what the elf had written and frowned. “Fenris.... This concerns me.” 

“Why? I can’t even write how I feel without being talked to? I do wish that fall had killed me, why can’t I even write it?” Fenris asked tersely as he balled up the papers and started to go to the fire so he could burn them. 

“Love, I worry when you act as if you’d be better off dead,” Vic said quietly. Zevran was watching silently from his seat near the bed; he’d been in the middle of oiling and polishing his blades, but his hands had stilled upon the blade in his hand as his eyes went to the fire, then to Fenris as he frowned slightly, glancing to Vic.

Behind him in the bed, Anders stirred slightly with a faint, pained groan then was still again.

“I can’t even write how I feel!” Fenris said as he pitched his writing into the fire and squirmed out of Vic’s hold when his husband tried to talk to get him to look at him.

“No one said that, but I am concerned when someone I love so much is wishing he was dead,” Vic said as he made Fenris look at him. “It scares me.”

“You all would be better off with me gone and it’s how I’m feeling, let me have that Vic,” Fenris said as he tried to pull out of Vic’s grasp.

“No, not when you’re sounding like you have a death wish again. Things are not so bad that you should wish to die. Do I have to watch you again, Fenris, take away your sword and weapons in case?” Vic asked him.

“No...you don’t, Vic. Let me go!” Fenris snarled at him before pulling away to stare into the fire.

“I’m not letting this go, not when you want to die on me...on us,” Vic replied before pulling at Fenris to look at him again.

Zevran had risen to his feet, swiftly sheathing his dagger at his belt as he laid aside the other knives on his chair, swiftly striding closer to the two men yet keeping a slight distance as he watched, his eyes going from Vic to Fenris then back, waiting for some sign from Vic if the mage should need assistance. He had a hand on one of the pouches at his waist, a finger touching the vials inside and swiftly finding a fast-acting sedative by the feel of the cord and knots.

Anders made a faint pained noise again, unheeded by any of them, the noise drowned out by the sounds of Fenris and Invictus’ voices. 

Fenris glanced at Zevran and backpedaled away from both men. He kept staring at Zevran, afraid of what the elf meant to do. He glanced at Invictus as well, wishing he’d never come back. 

“Easy love, no one will do anything to you,” Vic said quietly.

“He’s ready to do something, and you will not leave me be,” Fenris said quietly as he kept away from them. “I’m going .back to Nevarra or somewhere where you can’t corner me,” Fenris said as he kept his gaze on Zevran.

Zevran slowly lowered his hand from the pouch, spreading his hands a little to show he held nothing as he took a step backwards.

Anders sat up groggily, one hand clutching at his head as it still throbbed painfully, though without the same intensity that had driven him back to bed several hours previously following a long hard crying jag in Zevran’s arms once they’d been left alone. He could hear Fenris’ voice, though in his current state he was finding it hard to make out what the elf was saying, the sounds muffled by the heavy curtains of the bed.

He crawled across to the open side of the bed, brushing back the half-opened bed curtain, and swung his feet to the floor before rising and making his unsteady way into the main part of the room. He winced, the daylight far too bright and painful for his presently hypersensitive eyes, and pressed his hand to his aching head as he turned away from the light to peer at the other three men.

“What’s... what’s going on?” he asked, bewildered.

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Fenris said quietly as he kept an eye on Zevran. “I was just getting a change of clothes and going back to Nevarra,” he added.

“Fenris.…” Vic said warningly.

Anders looked at the tall elf, at the way he stood, staring at Zevran; and then he gave Vic a look of confusion and worry. “No, there’s... Fenris, why are you staring at Zevran like that?” He glanced at the Antivan elf, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Fenris this whole time.

“ _Mi cuore_ ,” said Zevran gently, not looking around at Anders. “You should take more elfroot and then rest, yes?”

“Vic?” asked Anders, uncertain and worried.

“Nothing to concern yourself with; you’re unwell, Anders, go back to sleep,” Vic said as he kept his gaze on Fenris.

Anders looked at all three men, and backed away. “I... I see,” he said quietly. “I... alright.” With all three men so adamant he should go back to bed, and with his head still aching, he felt he really had no choice; if it had been just Fenris, or Zevran, or Vic alone then perhaps he might have been inclined to be stubborn - but with all three ganging up on him without even looking in his direction, he backed away. Retreating to the bed, he crawled beneath the covers, letting the last bed curtain fall closed behind him as he buried his face against the pillow. 

“Now are you going to sit down and talk to us or do I need to subdue you love? When you’re like this, the last thing you need is to be alone,” Vic asked.

“Subdue me and it’s over, Vic. Treat me like I’m some animal that needs to be put to sleep for its own good and I leave the second I wake up - and I won’t come back,” Fenris said as he watched both men.

“Love, you scare me like this. We’ve been down this road before and I am worried you’ll do something terrible if you go off alone,” Vic said as he watched the elf, and realized he was actually afraid. 

Zevran had backed away a few more paces and sat on the nearest chair without taking his eyes off Fenris. “It would be over the moment one of us needed to subdue you in any case, I think,” he said calmly, though the troubled look in his eyes suggested that he felt anything but calm. “And if you will not stay and tell us why you have written something that has Invictus in such fear for you, then what is there left between us? Tell us, Fenris - what did you write on that paper that you burned, that makes Invictus so afraid of what you might do to yourself?”

Before Fenris could respond, Vic answered. “He wished the fall had killed him, so that he could let us be happy together. That he’s sorry for what he’s done but doesn’t think he’ll ever be forgiven and so he wished for death.” 

“How dare you?” Fenris snarled.

“You wouldn’t tell him, so I did. For now, we’re all still married to each other so he had a right to know. Though how he didn’t see that page before my return I have no idea,” Vic replied calmly.

“Because I was keeping my distance,” said Zevran quietly. “I did not think he wished an audience as he wrote, and it would have been wrong of me to try and read it over his shoulder - after all, if there has been an issue of trust between us all, how could doing such a thing serve to make anything better? I thought that if it were something I should know of, Fenris would tell me himself. I was giving him the chance to prove himself by his actions, not his words. And now once again I find myself also second-guessing my own actions, much as Anders has been doing.” 

He sighed, and glanced away, towards the window.

“This isn’t something you would have had to second guess, so don’t pull that with me. Not right now,” Vic said as he watched the elves. “I just said I was surprised you didn’t see it; I had not expected you to read over his shoulder but it was there before I left and after Fenris had already gone. Now what are we to do? Zevran it would help if you looked at one of us.” Vic added.

Zevran glanced back at Vic. “It did not seem something Fenris would have wanted one of us to read by chance,” he said. “And my attention was taken with Anders, in any case. I was distracted.” He shrugged. “And I do not know what we are to do.”

“You have no ideas?” Vic asked in surprise as he noticed the angry look on Fenris’ face.

“Invictus... I have been in that place of wishing only for death. But it was... there was no one given thing that caused me to stop seeking my death. In my case, it _was_ an active seeking; I... have no remedy for a regret that something did not result in my death, and in time I found other reasons to go on. But I am not a healer, this... Invictus, I do not know! I have no answers! Fenris did not want us to know this - what am I to think? That this would have been kept a secret until the desire no longer possessed him, or until some opportunity -” He broke off, closing his eyes with a pained look before his face smoothed over once more and he opened his eyes again. 

“When the desire took me, in one case it was because I had killed the one who meant most to me. And in the other, I thought Solona had died. In neither case had there been fighting that had dragged on for days after days - I was not the author of my own misfortune, only the unwitting dupe of others. What, then, can I say? This is beyond my abilities, my understanding to help. I do not know what we do now if Fenris would rather flee from us to Nevarra than talk to us. See, he is still afraid of me, even though he could break me so easily without any effort at all!”

‘Fine, I’ll stay,” Fenris said through clenched teeth as he took a seat. He’d wanted to leave but the comment about fleeing made him stay though he didn’t want to.

“Fenris, you don’t want to. I want you to because I’m afraid of what you will do if you are alone for a while in Nevarra,” Vic said.

“Well I can’t do both, Invictus. Stay, go, stay or go. I’m staying, so you can keep an eye on me so I don’t do anything stupid,” Fenris said before turning to face the fireplace. He was not going to address his fear of Zevran. 

Zevran was aware of the omission however. He turned to Vic and spread his hands as if to say _you see?_ then sighed gently.

“Fenris, love please. I’m worried for you. Zevran is too --” Vic got quiet at the look on Fenris’ face.

“Neither he or Anders would care if I dropped dead right now, so spare me. You wanted me to stay, so I’m staying. After that discussion earlier, I wrote out how I felt, and now that is not even what I can keep to myself to work through it. You two won’t let me alone and so I agreed to stay. You got what you wanted, Vic, so just let me sit here.”

“When my husband writes out how he wishes he was dead, I have a right to be concerned Fenris. When you want to sit here and be a sullen asshole when I am worried you’ll kill yourself or do harm to yourself if you are alone, then you better not give me an attitude Fenris. You could snap any of us in two with barely a thought and you’re acting like Zevran is going to kill you the second your back is turned. Cut this bullshit out right now, Fenris, or so help me I’ll take _your_ ring off and you can go fuck off to Nevarra for good. I want this marriage to work and you will not sabotage it any more. You gave your word, and I love you so fucking much but I will not allow this anymore. If you think that neither of them actually gives a damn if you live or die, then you are a fool. I saw the look on Zevran’s face as you were still unconscious. I saw the look on Anders’ face as you looked at him. I doubted them because I was angry and scared for you but I worked through it. Dammit man, why are you so fucking difficult today?” Vic finished, breathing hard and near tears. 

Fenris kept staring at the fire as Vic carried on, finally closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his knees as he wept. He was silent until he’d realized Invictus was finally done and waiting for him to reply. He didn’t know what to say after that.

“Well?” Vic asked after he kept silent.

“Well what Invictus? What can I say that you will accept?” Fenris asked quietly. 

“‘I’m sorry, I want this to work out but I’m scared’, the Void-damned _truth_ , Fenris, instead of walling off and going silent. I’m scared I’m going to wake up and you'll be dead. Over a decade of loving your difficult ass and I _still_ can’t get a straight answer out of you half the time. Why are you like this, Fenris? Talk to me, please?” Vic begged.

Zevran was staring at Fenris, open worry on his face now. He’d kept silent as Invictus spoke, because after all - if Fenris wouldn’t listen to Invictus, what chance would _he_ have? But as Vic begged Fenris to talk, he leaned forward slightly.

“Fenris, when you fell from the window, Anders threw himself after you with no thought for his own safety. Did you not hear him scream as you fell? If you truly think that Anders would not care if you died, why would he have screamed like that? Had I not held on to him, he would have tumbled out after you even as he tried to heal you - and then likely you would both be dead, no? How can you doubt he cares, when he did that for you? He passed out from exhaustion because he expended all of his mana healing you, with no thought for himself. If you doubt my words, then ask anyone who was in the courtyard the day you fell. Ask anyone who gathered around you there. They did not see you fall; it was Anders’ scream that alerted them.” Zevran regarded the other elf sombrely. “And if Anders did not care, he would not have made such a nuisance of himself as to be arrested when we were prevented from going to your side. And if I did not care... then why would I have sat so long by your bedside in the infirmary, waiting for you to awaken? If you are so certain I will kill you the moment your back is turned... Fenris, you were unconscious and vulnerable and all I did was to plead with Invictus to let me sit by your bedside and wait for you to open your eyes. I feel numb inside because I have been through such extremes of emotion that I think I am exhausted inside, and yet - Fenris, this? If you were to die? This numbness would be nothing; my grief would be as terrible as it was when I lost Solona a second time. How can you even doubt any of us?” 

“Right now it’s hard to believe any of you care. It’s why I wrote that, and I can’t even have my own feelings left to me. Fine, you all care, but I still feel as if you all would be better off without me. Look at Anders, you… look at what I’ve done to _you_. You don’t need this, no-one needs that in their life. I just ...why couldn’t you have let me just write out my feelings?” he finished quietly.

“Look at Anders indeed,” said Zevran quietly. “Look at him, and ask yourself how you could do yet more harm to him, Fenris. He has lost one lover in his life; how do you think it would hurt him to lose you in such a way? How do you think he would feel if he were awake to see you, to hear you right now? To hear you deny his love for you, to deny his very feelings for you? You say no-one needs this pain in their lives, and yet you would have willed yet more on him, on us all. And now you must sit here bemoaning that we know of this now?” He frowned. “Would you rather instead that we should one day awaken and find you gone or worse?”

“Fine - I’m wrong, I’ll just be quiet and sit here,” Fenris replied, before dropping his face to his knees once more and letting his tears fall. He’d just wanted to write out his feelings, burn it later and not have this. He was irritated that Invictus had forced the issue and he was embarrassed and angry all over again.

“Fenris...please, love,” Vic said as he approached.

“I just wanted to write my feelings down, Vic. Just let me sit here and be quiet. I’ll stay, and just...not talk about this right now,” Fenris replied as he edged away from his husband.

“You stubborn asshole, you make me so angry!” Vic snapped finally. “You want to go fucking cry in a corner and tell yourself the lie that none of us care about you, then go on. Come back when you’ve stopped being such a child. Go on then, _GO_ , Fenris!” Vic yelled at him.

Zevran threw his hands up and got to his feet, turning away from Fenris in frustration. He glanced over at the bed to see if any of this had disturbed Anders from his sleep, but there was no sound from behind the curtains of the bed. He frowned slightly, then headed over to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a glass of brandy. The other elf seemed to be determined to wallow in self-pity, it appeared, and at this point hitting his head against the wall struck Zevran as about as useful as talking to Fenris whilst he was refusing even to listen to Invictus - and would leave him with just as sore a head, he reflected. He was not in the least surprised that Invictus had given in to frustration and yelled; he only wondered that it hadn’t come sooner.

Invictus was staring at Fenris in anger, and hurt as he felt tears welling up. If the damned fool wouldn’t act right, then he could go think about his life choices elsewhere.

Fenris was staring at him, his own tears still falling before he lit his brands and left them for Adamant, and the ruined fortress rather than the house in Nevarra. He was stunned and hurt by Invictus. 

After Fenris had gone, Invictus sat in a chair and let himself cry finally. 

Zevran silently poured a second glass of brandy and brought it over to Invictus, setting it down on the small table beside the chair before sitting nearby to sip his own brandy, placing himself so he could keep one eye on the bed as he did so. He wasn’t sure if Anders were truly asleep or if the mage might have been awakened by Invictus’ shout - or by Fenris igniting his brands to teleport away. He wasn’t happy that the mage had entirely shut himself into the darkness, but he stayed where he was for now, giving Invictus space until he had cried himself out.

He felt only that same numbness inside trying to overwhelm him again, worse than before, but he was trying to ignore it. Invictus might have need of him soon; Anders certainly would, and he couldn’t afford to give in to weakness right now.

“I’m sorry to have yelled,” Vic finally said as he stared at the fire. “I think he’ll never come back after that. If he was truly feeling as if he wanted to die, I probably helped that along,” he added quietly.

“I am only surprised that it took you this long before you finally lost your temper, and I know it only happened from fear, Invictus,” replied Zevran quietly. “And I cannot see what else you could have done. If he truly desires that, then he would do so regardless of whether you shouted or not. If he has any sense left in that head of his then maybe he will think on how he drove you to that. But I do not think he truly would do anything like that; in my experience, men who seek to make an end of themselves do not make such a drama like this, writing out their feelings in such a way as to almost invite others to read. He left the paper there, he made no attempt to hide it - if he did not wish either of us to read then he would have gone to more effort to hide it, I am thinking. No, I think now that Fenris meant us to read it. And I do not think he really fully meant what was written; he did not expect us to take it so seriously. That was not remorse that drove him away, but anger, Invictus. No-one could be that stubborn about refusing to believe they are cared for unless they seek only to prolong things - certainly not if they truly wish to die.” 

He shook his head with a frown. “I think I should be very angry with Fenris for what he has done, and I think that if I were not very worried for you and for Anders then I, too, would have shouted.”

“Leave me be for a while, let me grieve the end of he and I,” Vic said quietly as he hung his head. 

Zevran glanced over towards the closed curtains of the bed, before nodding to Vic. “As you wish, my love,” he said quietly. He rose to his feet, downing the rest of his brandy before quietly leaving the room, leaving Vic alone with the sleeping blond mage.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran attempts to bring them all together once more.

Four days later found Invictus just sitting in front of the fire again, occasionally thumbing the ring he had to call Fenris, and getting no answer. He was starting to wonder if the elf had indeed taken off for good, or worse. “Answer me...please,” he whispered to the ring again.

Anders was watching him pensively, biting his thumbnail. The blond mage was curled up in his favourite chair, watching as Invictus pleaded with the silent ring yet once more, as he’d been doing repeatedly over the past few days. Zevran was pacing restlessly; they’d all tried to raise Fenris using the ring, but to no avail. Invictus was trying yet again. None of them dared voice the thought that maybe Fenris _couldn’t_ answer.

Anders was staring at the ring, focusing on keeping his breathing calm. He had woken from the migraine which had floored him for a couple of days in the end, only to find Fenris gone and both Vic and Zevran in sombre moods. It had taken them some time to finally tell him what had happened, and Anders was firmly yet silently telling himself that he couldn’t believe the last time he would ever hear Fenris’ voice would be to hear the elf telling him to go back to sleep, the elf not even looking at him. 

Vic felt like he was going to go to pieces. His anger was gone and he felt fear with each day that passed without Fenris responding. He was getting desperate enough to just go to Nevarra and hope the elf was still alive. “Please Fen….please,” he asked again before the ring vibrated and he heard his husband’s voice, low and raspy.

“Yes Invictus?” came the elf’s voice from the ring.

Anders froze, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at the ring. Zevran instantly whirled and crossed to stand beside Vic’s chair, likewise staring down at the ring, silent. 

“Thank Dumat...I was worried you had...you were gone for good,” Vic said shakily. “Come back.”

“Why did you call Vic? After you yelled, I didn’t expect this,” Fenris said quietly.

“We have all taken it in turns to try and call you,” said Zevran, leaning forward, resting one hand on Vic’s shoulder. “First Invictus and I, and then for the past two days Anders also. After our last discussion before you left, we... feared the worst,” he confessed.

“Still alive,” Fenris replied as he walked around their kitchen, his gaze landing on the supplies to patch the walls he’d had left over after fixing them. 

“And we are all much gladdened to hear your voice,” nodded Zevran. He glanced over to Anders, who nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak yet.

“I see,” Fenris replied before heading into the parlor and taking a seat. “Did you need anything from me?” he asked finally, unsure what to say after the fight. He was exhausted from working on the house and just wanted to lie down.

Anders gestured pleadingly to Vic to say something; Vic realised from Anders’ ragged breathing that the other mage was trying to get his emotions under control enough to be able to speak and not just burst into tears instead. Zevran was arching an eyebrow at Vic, doubtless wondering at his silence since Fenris finally began to talk to them at last.

“We needed to assure ourselves that you are yet in the land of the living, Fenris,” replied Zevran. “Do we need more than that to try to reach you? We have called for four days.”

“I thought you were dead, Fenris, I was scared,” Vic admitted quietly.

“I see...do you wish me to return or do you all still wish peace and quiet?” Fenris asked sadly, no bite or anger in his voice.

“Yes, I want you back here,” Vic replied.

Anders was leaning forward in his chair, resting his head in his hands as he focused on bringing his breathing back under control, but he nodded vehemently.

“You are wanted,” said Zevran softly. “Anders is nodding. He is incapable of speaking at present.”

“Very well, I’ll get cleaned up and return. I’ve been working on the house,” Fenris said before cutting the connection and heading to the smaller bathing chamber. Once he was cleaned up and in a dark grey tunic with black leather pants and had put his rings back on, the elf returned to their rooms, arriving outside Anders’ doorway, entering after bracing himself. 

He entered and stopped short of where they were all gathered in the sitting area. Zevran stood beside Anders’ chair, in the act of handing a glass of wine to the mage who looked a little pale; they both looked up as he entered before Anders accepted the glass.

Invictus went to him and stopped short, unsure if the elf wanted to be touched. “You came back.” 

“You asked me to, Vic, so I returned,” Fenris said warily. 

Anders and Zevran exchanged a look. “You... you wanted to come back yourself... right?” said Anders, hesitant. “I mean - it wasn’t just because you were asked... right?”

“I was lonely and yes, I did want to come back,” Fenris replied as he glanced at Anders.

Anders managed a half-smile as Zevran squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“You have been working all this time then?” asked Zevran quietly.

“Yes,” the elf replied quietly.

“Don’t you want to sit down love?” Vic asked quietly, concerned for how withdrawn Fenris was being.

“I shall send for food,” said Zevran as he headed towards the door.

“I wasn’t sure how long I can stay,” Fenris said quietly. 

Zevran halted and glanced back. “You are expecting company at the house?” he said, in a tone of perplexed surprise.

“No, I wasn’t sure how long I could stay _here_ ,” Fenris clarified.

“Love, I wouldn’t have asked you to come back if we didn’t want you here,” Vic said in confusion.

“Why would we have asked you back if we were only going to tell you to go again?” added Anders, equally confused. “That makes no sense!”

“I didn’t know,” Fenris said as he took a seat finally and waited for food to arrive. Zevran had turned back towards the door and was quietly talking to one of the passing messengers. After a few minutes, he returned. 

“It is late, so she was not sure how much would be available from the kitchens now, but she will see what can be sent to us,” he explained before taking a seat, perched on the arm of Anders’ chair.

Fenris sat there, quietly staring at the floor as he waited for someone to talk. He wasn’t going to dare try and speak after the way he’d been sent off.

“I’m glad that the last thing I would ever hear from you won’t be you telling me to go to bed,” said Anders, staring down at his hands as he gave a little self-deprecating laugh.

“We were only concerned for you, _mi cuore_ ,” murmured Zevran to him. “And with good cause, hmm?”

“It was just a headache,” muttered Anders, now embarrassed.

“A headache that had you hiding in darkness for over two days,” Zevran chided. “Hush. Fenris is here now.”

“I am glad to see you on your feet again Anders,” Fenris said quietly as he tried not to wince at the affection between them.

Invictus was at a loss; he felt like there was a wall between them and he wanted to hug Fenris but didn’t think he could take it if he was rejected.

Anders was quietly trying to remember when the last occasion was that Fenris had held him. Invictus had responded when he’d asked for a hug after being fetched out of the dungeons, but he was at a loss to remember the last time Fenris had touched _any_ of them with affection. He realised it was likely when he and Vic had spent that miserable, uncomfortable night in chairs by the fire as Fenris and Zevran spent the night together. He stared down at his hands and felt keenly the chasm that seemed to yawn between them both. He wondered what Zevran were thinking; the Antivan had been so distant of late, sometime seeming only to be half aware or in the world with them that he worried. The times when he seemed fully alive and to feel anything were marked by how little they seemed to happen.

“What have you been doing while you were in Nevarra?” Vic asked as he watched Fenris sit there.

“Fixed the kitchen and bedroom walls; I had just finished when you called again,” Fenris replied as he glanced down at his hands and noticed the paint under his nails. “I’d left the ring in my office while I’d been working.”

“Sensible,” nodded Anders absently. “Wouldn’t have wanted it to be damaged, after all.”

“I guess so. I took off all my rings to work, but I remembered them before I returned,” Fenris said before he looked up at the others. “I’d rather not have the house fall to disrepair no matter where we wind up moving to.”

“I’d prefer to be on our way sooner than later,” replied Anders quietly. “I am heartily sick of Skyhold, frankly. Particularly of this room now.”

“I have been thinking that perhaps I should go on ahead,” said Zevran diffidently. “It would be so much simpler if we had somewhere to go to on arrival in Denerim, yes? Otherwise we must stay in an inn until we have found somewhere.”

“An inn wouldn’t be so bad,” said Anders, dubiously. “As long as it’s not near the docks. And not the Black Pearl, either.” 

Zevran smirked slightly at that before schooling his face to neutrality once more; it was the first time in several days that any of them had seen the Antivan crack anything approaching a smile however.

“When would you go Zevran?” Fenris asked as he stared at the fire.

“I do not yet know,” shrugged Zevran. “But there is a merchant due to arrive with supplies for the Chargers in a day or so. He will be returning to Denerim, and I could travel with him - no doubt he will be glad to hire on an extra blade.”

“Be safe on your journey, Zevran,” Fenris said as he kept his gaze on the ground and didn’t look at any of them. 

“Why don’t you sit with us at the table love?” Vic asked of the taller elf. 

Fenris joined them, and didn’t do much when Invictus took his hand, squeezed it once and sat there quietly. 

Anders was quietly counting under his breath, tallying something on his fingers before he looked up at Zevran with an aghast look. “Zev - it’s three weeks to Denerim, even by the fastest horse - by merchant’s wagon it must be easily a month, and then finding somewhere, and then finding someone to bring a message - Zev, you’d be apart from us for easily three or more months!”

“That seems likely, yes,” nodded the Antivan calmly as he poured wine for them all.

“I can take you to the docks in Denerim,” Fenris offered quietly. “That way you won’t be away so long.” 

“How do you even know how to get there?” Vic asked.

“Found my brother, that’s where his lyrium led me,” Fenris answered.

“So, that was where he fled to with Isabela, hmmm?” said Zevran neutrally. “Well, it is true that that would save me almost a month of travel.”

“But still - Zevran, we’d be apart for a couple of months at least!” exclaimed Anders. 

Zevran stared steadily at him. “Then perhaps you should come with me? Or perhaps we should all travel as soon as possible and then send for everything once we have somewhere, hmm?”

“You realize I could just ferry us there when he finds a place,” Fenris said before looking away to the fire.

“Splitting off like we have been won’t help us heal, Anders,” Vic added.

“But - but he’ll be gone _weeks_ \- maybe even months!” protested Anders. There was an almost desperate air about him; Vic found himself wondering where he’d seen such a look before - and then it came to him; Arden, whilst they were stranded in his Kirkwall, before they faced Nightmare for the first time. And Anders had been equally off-kilter at the time, desperate to heal Hal.

“Go with him, then,” Vic said tiredly, defeated. “Travel with this merchant or do whatever you want. Send a message once you have a place.” 

Fenris turned to the fire and remained quiet, though he was upset at them once again splitting off. 

“I shall ask Dorian for a pair of rings,” said Zevran quietly. “We will find somewhere for us all and we shall speak with you each evening so that you know how the search goes.”

“Very well,” Vic replied before going to sit by the fire. He wasn’t happy about this idea, while Fenris remained silent, unhappy as well but he wasn’t going to complain.

“We’ll find several properties that suit - then you two can come join us to look them over before we pay out gold for wherever we settle on. And in the meantime you can oversee the packing up of the rest of the things we’ll be taking, and... and sending off the others,” Anders said quietly. “But if I don’t get away from Skyhold soon then I will go mad.”

“As you say, Anders,” Vic said quietly, uninterested in splitting up again. He found it unfair that they were getting saddled with packing up while they went on their merry way traveling, and away from them.

Fenris moved to join Vic by the fire, putting his head in the other man’s lap and remaining quiet. He made a slight noise when he felt Vic’s hand in his hair, but fell quiet again as they sat together. The warrior had a bad feeling about them splitting up but didn’t speak up.

They sat in silence like that for some time until a knock at the door heralded the arrival of the food Zevran had requested. He rose to admit the two servants who entered, carrying trays. There was stew, day-old bread, some cheese and apples.

“Will that be all, serah?” asked one of the servants coolly.

“This will be fine,” nodded Zevran.

“We trust you gentlemen will be moving on shortly?” asked the other servant. “Guests of the Chargers or the former Inquisitor tend not to stay so long, and it’s quite a trek from the kitchen to here.”

Zevran blinked at the man. “Is there... some problem?” he asked slowly.

“Problem? Why should we have a problem with a bunch of freeloaders?” sneered the first servant. “Enjoy your meal... _sers_.”

They departed, leaving Zevran to frown at the door. “I think perhaps the staff feel we have outstayed our welcome, no?”

“That’s odd, and I will let someone know about it,” Vic said quietly.

“Do we even know who they’re employed by?” asked Anders. “I mean - do they answer to Krem and the Chargers, or are they infirmary staff? The College has its own guest quarters and kitchen, after all.”

“Perhaps we should request to move to the College guest quarters?” suggested Zevran. “After all, you three are mages - and whilst we wait to send our mirror selves home, it would make more sense to be there than here, hmm?”

“If that’s the attitude we can expect from the staff here, perhaps you’re right,” said Anders worriedly.

“You’d think a servant would not be so mouthy at least,” Vic said while Fenris kept quiet. He wasn’t sure what prompted their attitude but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“It does seem most perplexing, no?” agreed Zevran as he took a plate and began to serve himself. “Anders, who do you think would be in charge of rooming guests at the College? You know them best, I think?”

“Parcival’s wife, Becky,” answered Anders. “Sister Rebecca as she was when she witnessed and blessed our marriage. She gave up her vows not long after so she and Parcival could wed. I think it was Meneris who presided over their wedding. She’s not a mage but she deals with a lot of the housekeeping for the College. You’re probably right; I know there are rooms free, and at least there we wouldn’t be in each others’ pockets - and maybe being a little further away from our mirror selves will be better for us.”

“So, separate rooms, then?” Vic asked with a glance down to Fenris, concerned with the elf’s continued silence.

Anders nodded. “I think part of our problem has been the lack of space for any of us to have a little privacy,” he answered. “I hadn’t realised how claustrophobic it would feel with none of us able to get away by ourselves like this.”

“Fenris did ask for his own room back,” Vic noted as he stared at Anders, frowning when he heard Fenris ask him to drop it in a low whisper. “As you wish, love.”

Anders lowered his head. “I know, and I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I... I’m not sure what was wrong with me, but I panicked I think. I thought that Fenris moving out would mean he didn’t want to be around us - around _me_ anymore. I know better now, but... well. Hindsight and all that. I’m sorry.”

“He asked me to drop it, so I will,” Vic said tiredly before nudging the elf in his lap to get up so they could eat. Fenris got up slowly, made a plate and sat there eating quietly.

Vic frowned at how meek he was being but didn’t want to push after getting him to return. Instead he poured Fenris wine, his frown deepening as it was pushed away.

Zevran was putting a plate down in front of Anders, who made as though to push it away but Zevran caught his hand, lacing their fingers together. “ _Mi cuore_ ,” he said very softly. “You must eat, or you will give yourself another headache, hmm?”

Anders sighed, but nodded reluctantly. Zevran released his hand and the blond mage began to eat. Zevran sat back and finally turned his attention to his own food.

“Fen, what’s wrong?” Vic asked quietly.

“Everything, but I don’t have the energy to fight again. Even the servants are tired of us, and I just want to sleep,” the elf replied as he picked at his food. 

“I’m worried, love,” Vic said as he reached out to brush a few hairs from Fenris’ face. 

The elf moved away, annoyed at the unexpected touch. “Don’t be, I’ll get over it eventually,” Fenris said as he kept moving his food around rather than eating it.

“He did say that he has been working upon the house all day, Invictus,” Zevran reminded him neutrally. “It is to be expected that he would be tired, yes? After all, there was much damage to the house, and even with four days that would be a lot of work for just one man.”

Anders said nothing, focusing instead on his food.

Invictus stared at Zevran, surprised he defended Fenris at all. He stared at the Antivan a moment longer then went back to his plate. 

Fenris heard the other elf but didn’t look up, just kept poking at his plate for a while before pushing it away and sitting back.

“Are you staying here tonight, Fenris, or will you be going back to the house?” asked Zevran, ignoring the looks Vic was giving him. Anders glanced up at him briefly with a small frown before turning his attention back to his stew.

“If I’m allowed to stay here, I will sleep here. If not my office will suffice,” the elf replied, as he stared into the wine Vic had poured, unsure if he wanted it.

“I see,” replied Zevran as he rose to pour wine for himself and Anders.

“Fenris, you can stay. Please, stop this, love. We wouldn't have called if we didn’t want you here,” Vic reminded him.

“Then I will sleep here, Vic,” Fenris replied before pushing the wine away finally and sitting back. He was done in and just wanted them to move or do whatever they were going to do.

“Anders, why don’t you check with Becky and see when we can move to the guest quarters in the College?” Vic asked.

Anders looked up from his half-eaten stew. “Um... sure,” he replied. “It’s pretty late, but I’ll see if she’s available to talk and maybe at least find out when we could move there, if not tonight.” He rose to his feet, setting down his napkin. He went to the wardrobe and picked out a warm outer robe; though it was late summer, up here in the mountains it was becoming bitterly cold at night. Tugging it on, he glanced back at the others then headed off to the College.

Invictus glanced at Zevran but said nothing further, instead he nudged at Fenris to find the elf had fallen sound asleep at the table. He tugged at the taller man until he managed to get him to the bed and his boots off before taking up the wine Fenris hadn’t touched and sitting at the fireplace to think. 

Zevran finished eating then leaned back in his chair, sipping his own wine thoughtfully. The room was quiet, but it was an uneasy silence.

“When do you plan to leave?” Vic asked to break the silence.

“I do not know,” said Zevran, glancing over at him. “I had thought to depart with the merchant, but he will not arrive for another day or two. Perhaps another day before he is ready to leave. Certainly I did not anticipate leaving any sooner than that.” 

“Dorian won't be able to make rings in time for you to go,” Vic noted.

“He may have some rings already made,” shrugged Zevran. “If not, then I can wait; there are always merchants coming and going - between the Chargers, the infirmary and the College, there is much traffic between Skyhold and Haven, after all. And from Haven there are several merchants that travel onwards.”

“I see; well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Vic said as he realized his wine was done. “More drink?” he asked as he rose.

Zevran glanced to his empty glass, then nodded. “Please,” he asked.

Invictus refreshed their drinks and resumed staring at the fire, wondering when Anders would return.

“It will take him some time to find Becky and talk to her about rooms,” said Zevran quietly, picking up on Vic’s thoughts almost uncannily. “In any case, i think it unlikely we should be able to move over to the College tonight. Fenris is asleep, and it would be unfair to disturb him, I think.”

“I didn’t think we could move tonight, but knowing we can go in the morning would be nice. Thought I am not happy with the idea of being there, its better than getting sniped at by the servants,” Vic said tiredly.

“At least both Anders and Fenris would be closer to their daughters,” Zevran shrugged. “And I think perhaps we will all find we get along easier once we are not so... what is the phrase Anders used? - living in each others’ pockets anymore.”

“Considering how Pin went off at Fenris, I don’t think that will be a comfort,” Vic said as he glanced at Zevran. “And I can’t remember when Callus has checked in on Fenris after his fall. I think at this point it won’t be good for Fen to be alone but those rooms aren’t exactly spacious,” Vic noted.

“The single rooms are not,” nodded Zevran. “But I believe there are some slightly larger suites for visiting married couples - at least two suites, to the best of my knowledge. There are certainly several such suites amongst the mages’ accommodation wings; Pin and Marian have one such suite. There are several families too, I believe.”

“Considering we are seen as worrisome guests, I doubt they would give us better accomodations than the standard,” Vic said.

Zevran shrugged. “Perhaps. But perhaps the College will be charitably disposed towards the former Grand Enchanter who was the architect of its existence in the first place, hmm? And perhaps it is well that it is Anders who asks. Let us see what he may achieve.”

“The same one who is supposed to be their dearly departed Grand Enchanter you mean?” Vic said quietly.

Zevran laughed quietly. “Officially? Anders is dead. But unofficially... Invictus, do you really think the most senior enchanters at the College did not know who he was the very first time he set foot back there again? They know. And whilst they will say nothing _officially_... well. I think he may have more success than you may think.”

“Very well,” Vic said a tad irritably.

Zevran blinked, then rose to come sit nearer to Vic, on the other couch. “What is wrong?” he asked, softly.

“I don’t like being laughed at, and I’m tired and I want to go back to Nevarra until we can go to Denerim. I am sick of Skyhold,” Vic said. 

Zevran stared at him, stung. “I was not laughing at you, Invictus,” he said. “I was laughing, but only at the thought that with so many people who had known Anders as their personal teacher, any of us had ever thought the lie would be believed - and I was as much a part of that as any, maybe even more so. I was still the Spymaster then, and yet somehow I was blind to his students right there under my very nose. No, I am laughing at myself as much as anything, Invictus - but not at you. I have made so many mistakes, it is well I am Spymaster no longer. But if you wanted to go back to Nevarra, why did you ask Anders to go this evening to the College?”

“I didn’t ask because it’s clear that Nevarra is not somewhere he wishes to be. Just because I want something doesn’t mean I will get it,” Vic replied quietly. 

“You can cast that teleportation spell,” said Zevran slowly with a small frown. “There is no reason why you should not sleep there if you prefer. If you truly wish to go back to Nevarra, you know that Anders would not deny you that. There is very little that Anders would not agree to, save one thing - and that would be to move back there himself. Maybe when more time has passed, he would agree - but right now, I think if you were to insist on him returning there, it would be very bad for him. I am already concerned about that headache he had. I do not wish to see him have another. And mentally he is... growing unbalanced.”

“After being pushed away that night for merely suggesting sleeping there, I will not ever attempt to get him to move there again. He’s made that quite clear. I won’t leave Fenris here and I can’t carry him and cast a portal. It was a idle wish; I should have kept it to myself,” Vic replied before rising and getting the bottle of wine for them.

Zevran shrugged. “It is something you wished for, however,” replied Zevran. “You should not fear to share your wishes with me, Invictus. We each have things we hope for, things we wish for - and yes, sometimes those things will be something that we cannot have. But it is not wrong to have such wishes.”

“I’d rather not share things that cannot be,” Vic replied. he glanced up as he heard Fenris talking in his sleep. “That’s...new.” 

Zevran had been about to reply when he heard Fenris murmuring something; he held still, staring over towards the sleeping area.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Fenris is not given to talking in his sleep, doubtless for the same reasons I am not.” He set his glass aside and rose to his feet, moving silently closer as he concentrated to hear what Fenris was saying in his dreams.

“I’m sorry, don’t ...don’t leave me behind....” Fenris said before turning to his side and curling up again.

Zevran went still and stood in silence, staring at the other elf, a faint frown creasing his brow slightly.

“What is causing this?” Vic said as he listened to Fenris muttering.

“I do not know,” said Zevran very quietly. “As I say, he is not given to talking in his sleep. That would have been as fatal for a slave as it would have been for me in the Crows. One who talks in their sleep does not live long in either occupation, yes? You have not heard him do this before, and nor have I. I do not know why he would start now.”

“A nightmare perhaps?” Vic said 

Zevran’s frown deepened. “Even in a nightmare, I have never heard him talk aloud. Cry out, yes - but wordlessly. He has never spoken in his sleep within my hearing, though he has lashed out physically. If he has ever spoken, then it was not when I was awake to hear it - and I would have awakened if he had, I am certain, unless I was ill or under one of your sleep spells.”

“Should we wake him up? I’m worried,” Vic said. 

“Perhaps you should,” said Zevran, staring at Fenris still. “He... after how he reacted to me in fear that I would do something before he left us... I fear for his reaction if he should awaken to find me leaning over him. I would not add to the distress he feels by doing that to him.”

“Go on and wake him. You can jump back if he does wake up and not realize what’s going on. I can dispel any magic he may cast, since he is still new to his magic,” Vic said.

Zevran darted him a wary look, then approached the sleeping elf. He hesitated a moment, then leaned over Fenris and gently shook him. “ _Carissimi_ , you are dreaming,” he called quietly, then lightly shook him again.

“No… stop,” Fenris said as he batted at whoever was touching him. 

“Love, come on and wake up; you’re talking in your sleep,” Vic called out.

“Fenris, you need to wake up,” said Zevran firmly as he shook the elf again, a little harder. 

The warrior sat up and stared around, surprised to find himself in the bed, and both Vic and Zevran staring at him. “What happened? Why are you staring at me?” he asked roughly.

Zevran had snatched his hands away swiftly the moment Fenris’ eyes had opened, and he now backed swiftly away rather than risk unnerving the elf more than he had already done.

“You spoke in your sleep,” the Antivan said, watching Fenris carefully to be certain he were fully awake - and that no ice had come to his hands. He remembered only too clearly what Fenris had said about ice coming to his hands for fear, fire for anger.

“I don’t talk in my sleep Zevran, I never have,” Fenris said as he glanced at Zevran warily, then got to his feet. 

“You did love, I heard it first,” Vic agreed.

“Very funny, Invictus. I know I don’t talk in my sleep, else I would have met a swift end when I was a slave,” Fenris said as he made his way to the basin to splash water on his face.

“We do not lie, Fenris,” said Zevran, glancing to Vic. “I swear upon my life that we do not lie to you! Why do you think we are both worried? I know it would have been death for you as much as it would have been for me as a Crow!”

“It’s not bad enough I’m a damned mage now, but to start talking in my sleep? What else will happen to me?” Fenris said tersely before dumping cool water over his head and grabbing a flannel to dry off.

“It’s not the end of the world to be a mage, Fenris,” Vic said coolly.

“For me? It damn near is, Vic,” the elf replied just as coolly. “So, what did I say?” he asked them.

“You... told someone you were sorry. And begged not to be left behind,” said Zevran, troubled. “You did not say a name. I did not hear more than that.”

“I...see,” Fenris replied before tugging off his tunic to freshen up.

“Love, is something on your mind that maybe came up in your dreams?” Vic asked.

“No,” was Fenris’ answer before he put his tunic back on and sat on the bed.

“I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep, Fenris,” said Zevran apologetically. “But we worried - much as I trust you would both be concerned for me if I spoke in _my_ sleep. It is not a thing either of us have known you to do before; you have been restless before, but never spoke like this - to talk, and without any other sign of restlessness?”

“Hopefully I don’t do this again; perhaps a previous conversation _was_ on my mind, or my control is slipping due to this magic manifesting. I don’t know and I’m awake now,” Fenris replied as he glanced down at his nails, not wanting to discuss the dreams he’d been trapped in.

“Fenris, I -” Zevran began then broke off as the door opened. Anders was letting himself into the room, clutching his outer robe tightly around himself.

“Maker, it’s so bitter out there tonight,” exclaimed Anders, unaware of the atmosphere in the room. “I think summer is definitely over - there’s a definite bite to that wind, and a halo around the moon.”

Invictus looked up, surprised to find it so chilly when earlier hadn’t been bad. “Sit by the fire and warm up,” he replied before looking back to Fenris.

Anders nodded, moving towards the fireplace, gesturing to ignite the stacked wood with a wave of his hand and a brief burst of fire magic before leaning forward with his hands held out towards the warmth of the flickering flames. “This robe isn’t warm enough for that wind,” he remarked. “Hadn’t realised until I set foot outside the keep.”

“Didn’t you get more clothes brought to you?” Vic asked while Fenris stared at Zevran, wondering what he had been about to say.

“Yes - but I had no idea the temperature had dropped so much, or that I would get so chilled on my way back,” replied Anders. He lowered himself to sit on the rug in front of the fire. “Or I’d have worn a cloak or something.”

Fenris was still staring at Zevran, curious if he would actually finish his thought or leave him wondering; Invictus went to pour Anders some brandy while the two elves kept staring at each other.

Zevran broke away from their gaze first, glancing down and then away for a moment. “I apologise if I startled you when you awoke,” he said quietly. 

“I see,” Fenris replied. “Sure there is nothing else to say, Zevran?” he asked curiously.

Zevran hesitated, then lifted his head to meet Fenris’ stare. “I also apologise if I have made you fear me... or that I would leave you behind,” he said, his voice pitched for Fenris’ ears alone. 

Fenris looked away, unable to speak for a few moments. “O...ok,” he finally whispered before risking a look to the Antivan. “It seems inevitable at this point...that I’ll be left because I am not safe or trusted,” he said with a hitch to his voice before looking away.

“Then give us reason to trust, Fenris,” said Zevran. “Do as I have tried to do this evening... reach out to Anders, as I have done to you.” He smiled sadly. “Anders has ever been the most forgiving of any of us. It would take so little for him to respond to you.”

“I cannot take it if he rejects me now. I’m ...I simply can’t,” Fenris replied as he dropped his gaze. “I’m scared to even try with either of you.”

“Fenris... if you will not even try, then you will lose him,” said Zevran sombrely. “Do you think I felt no apprehension when I defended you to Invictus earlier, before you slept? Or when I pleaded with him to be allowed to be at your side as you lay in the infirmary? Yet I did it. As did Anders to Invictus. Even knowing how you would react to us - yet still, we did it. What would have happened if we had not, Fenris? Anders would not have been arrested - but you would not be here now, in this room, and nor would Invictus. Likely Anders and I would be upon the road now, on our way to Denerim. You must risk a little, Fenris. If you will not... then what does that say to Anders?”

“It’s not as simple as ‘will not’, Zevran. I am afraid,” Fenris said quietly before looking to where Anders and Invictus sat before the fire. He watched for a while before turning to look at Zevran. “Fine...I will try, but if he sends me away or won’t talk it will break me,” he said quietly.

“I was afraid to wake you,” whispered Zevran softly. “You have told us how you used ice to cut the throat of my mirror self, and you have said you are afraid of me. I was almost certain all I would achieve would be a shard of ice through my own throat... but I woke you, nonetheless. Have at least as much courage, Fenris. He has never raised a hand to you.”

“I’m not you, I don’t have courage,” Fenris replied quietly before getting up and heading in to sit with the others.

Anders was cradling his glass of brandy in both hands as he stared into the fire; he’d stopped shivering, but he still wore the outer robe. He glanced up at Fenris as the elf joined them, and gave him a tremulous, shame-faced smile.

“My parents were from the Anderfels; you’d think I’d have more sense in the mountains,” he tried to joke.

“Winter here is harsh; I brought a thicker robe should you need it, Anders,” Fenris offered quietly. He’d sat next to Anders but couldn’t bring himself to ask for touch or to speak unless spoken to first. He’d been truthful when he’d told the other elf he was afraid, and that wasn’t any less true for having gone a few feet into the other part of their rooms.

Invictus glanced at Zevran, unsure what the other elf had said to make Fenris come out and not return to sleep.

“I should have worn it,” said Anders ruefully as Zevran followed Fenris over to sit in a nearby chair. “I certainly will before venturing out there again. There’s snow on the wind; we may have a few days more of sun, but the autumn storms aren’t far off now.” He sighed. “Becky says that she has two large suites set aside for high-prestige guests. She says they’re ours for the taking - tonight if we liked, though I knew Fenris was exhausted and told her tomorrow would be fine. I told her we’d be content with smaller rooms, but she wouldn’t hear of it. They’re over the family wing of the College. I have the keys already here.” He glanced to Vic, then Fenris, then held the key out towards Fenris. “She said she would make sure there are two large double beds in both rooms, pushed together. So... so we can all be together in either room, as we wish.”

“I see,” Fenris took the key, unsure what to do. He was sure Anders would room with Zevran so he was quiet. “I take it you’ll room with Zevran, then?” he asked quietly.

“My things and Zevran’s will be in one room,” said Anders carefully. “But I... I hope you’ll share the bed with me as often as he does. And that you’ll share a bed often with him. And that all four of us will be together as much as we want.” He stared at Fenris. “Because... because it’s been... weeks since you held me, Fenris, and... and that hurts. When you didn’t answer... when I woke and Zevran told me they were afraid you - you were....” His eyes were bright, and his lower lip trembled. “The last time you held me, kissed me, was before Nightmare,” he whispered. “Before you went into the rift.”

Fenris looked away at that reminder, with him unable to respond immediately. “Do you actually wish for that from me, after you said I am not trusted?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yes,” whispered Anders. “Yes, Fenris. I want that.” He tried to smile, and failed.

Zevran gazed at them both, then glanced at Invictus. He subtly indicated with a brief circling motion of his finger that Vic should move around and closer to him.

Vic moved to the other side of Zevran, curious as to what would happen between them. He was unsure about things but it was better than fighting again.

Fenris stared at him, and finally offered his hand to Anders, as he fought the urge to ask why or something else that would ruin the moment. Anders took it, then shifted a little closer before he leaned in closer. 

“Fenris,” he breathed softly. “Kiss me? Please?”

“If you want,” the elf replied before he leaned in and closed his eyes. 

Anders closed the gap between them with a small, desperate sound before his lips brushed those of Fenris; and then they parted invitingly as Fenris moved to kiss him. Anders panted into the kiss - a small, wistful sound of longing as he melted against Fenris, one hand reaching to rest upon Fenris’ shoulder.

As they parted for breath, Anders opened his eyes to stare up at Fenris, and he managed a small, sad smile. “Thank you, love,” he breathed. “I shan’t ask for more until you want it... but thank you for this much.” He pulled away, reluctantly, still gazing up into Fenris’ eyes.

“You’re welcome,” was Fenris’ reply before he turned to stare into the fire, and pondered where things would go.

“That was...tense,” Vic said quietly as he sat next to Zevran.

“Anders needed that,” said Zevran softly. “If Fenris had refused....” He sighed. “He will not ask for more, though he yearns for it.” He glanced to Vic. “And not only from Fenris.”

“Speak plainly Zevran, I am not in the mood for riddles and circular talk tonight,” Vic said tiredly. 

“Anders needs a sign of affection from you,” he said quietly. “He has me... but he fears neither you nor Fenris truly want him. When did you last touch him, Invictus? I can accept that you have no desire to touch me... but Anders craves touch and affection.”

“I tried and was rejected and we have fought off and on ever since,” Vic replied tersely as he watched Fenris sitting there stiffly while Anders held his hand and rested his head on the elf’s shoulder.

“Invictus,” said Zevran seriously. “I am begging you. Show him some small token that you still care. If you kissed him now, I swear to you he would not turn away from you.”

Vic turned and glared at him. “Why are you pushing this? I have never felt less like touching _anyone_ now than I have in weeks. Should I force myself to show affection to appease you?” he asked before turning to face Anders and Fenris with a low sigh. “Shouldn't it be genuine?” he asked the blond elf quietly.

“Do you truly feel no affection for him?” murmured Zevran bleakly. “He would not seek for more from you than that. But of us all, Anders have ever been the most physically affectionate - the most touch-starved and in need of such reassurance. I only want to see him smile, Vic. Please.”

“Fine,” Vic said as he moved around to sit on the other side of Anders and kissed him gently on the cheek before leaning back and waiting to see how he reacted.

If he had doubted Anders’ feelings for him, Anders’ reaction disabused him of that notion immediately. The blond mage gave a thankful gasp and turned his head, closing his eyes as he reached to kiss him back, his hands lifting to reach for him. 

Vic allowed him to kiss him back, surprised by the reaction but something in him loosened at being shown some affection after being rejected previously. Anders melted into the kiss, much as he had with Fenris, trying to choke back a sob as his fingers closed into the fabric of Vic’s tunic.

Zevran gave a small, sad sigh, and let his gaze fall to the floor. He didn’t dare look at the other elf, though he longed to. 

Vic pulled away from Anders to breathe and then gave Zevran a meaningful look before he was kissed again.

Fenris had edged away from them so he wouldn’t be in the way if they went beyond kissing. He’d hoped they would have just let him sit there in peace but he was going to go back to their bed, if he wasn’t shoved out of the way for Anders and Invictus making up.

Zevran silently reached out a hand and let it rest on Fenris’ shoulder before he lifted his eyes towards the other elf, waiting to see what he would do. 

Fenris reached up and covered Zevrans’ hand in his while he sat there, wary of what would come next. He’d heard the other elf pushing Invictus and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He would have gone to Anders in his own time, but at least there had been a sign he cared, which had never stopped on his end.

“Fenris,” breathed Zevran. “I still love you. But I will not ask more of you than you are willing to give.”

Fenris felt a tear slide down his face, as he listened to the other elf. He didn’t fully believe he was still loved, but he’d take Zevran at what he’d said because the alternative hurt too much. He stared into the fire as he slid his fingers through the smaller man’s and squeezed very gently. “Alright.” he whispered as he sat there, unsure what to do or say. 

They sat there, fingers laced together as they watched Anders and Invictus, the two mages sitting silently in front of the fire, Anders’ head resting on Invictus’ shoulder. It all felt so tentative and fragile.

But perhaps it might be enough. For now.


	41. Chapter 41

Leto was restless; it had been a few days since they’d heard anything about getting home or anything about their Zevran. No - it had been close to a week and time was running out for them to get back before Josephine had a coup on her hands. He didn’t want to leave Anders sound asleep but he wanted answers about their fate. He got up and dressed quietly, sure to leave a note for the other mage before he left their rooms. 

He exited and decided to head to see ...that brought him up short. His double didn’t like him, he wasn’t about to get close enough to their Anders for him to touch again and he wasn’t sure if their Dorian would want to see him with Fenris back. After a moment, he decided to look for Anders’ daughter, Ellowynne - and failing to find her, he’d take his chances with their Dorian.

After realizing he had no idea where Ellowynne might be beyond a vague idea that she’d mentioned something about a mage school or college, he headed up to find the other Dorian, hoping he would not be as cold as his own magister. Leto knocked on the former Inquisitor’s door, hopeful Dorian was in or someone could tell him where to find the other mage.

The low buzz of voices in the room beyond suddenly stopped, and there was silence for a moment before he heard familiar footsteps approaching the door and Dorian’s voice, slightly muffled. 

“...well I’m certainly not expecting anyone -”

The door opened and Dorian stared at Leto in surprise. His eyes went first to the staff on Leto’s back then to the elf’s hair before meeting Leto’s gaze. “Leto. Is there something I can do for you?” he inquired politely. 

Leto looked down, unsure as he stared into grey eyes like those he missed of his own magister. “I...I wanted to see if there was an update on getting us home. I’m sorry if I disturbed you and Meneris,” he replied.

“I believe Ellowynne and Varania have finally made a breakthrough of sorts - Varania was quite insistent that I keep away however, as apparently their research had exhausted Ellowynne. Though she did ask me to call over at the College later today; they’ve been making use of my notes concerning my experience in the Deep Fade. I believe they have been trying to recreate it, albeit under more controlled conditions than I experienced it.” He gave Leto a rueful half-smile.

“I’m so sorry!” Leto said before looking away. “I can leave you in peace then, I’m sorry to have bothered you Dorian,” Before the taller elf could back away, he heard the former Inquisitor asking to know why Leto was there.

“Hasn’t he done enough to you _amatus_? Must he come to our door and bother you again?” Meneris asked testily.

Dorian glanced back over his shoulder with a slight frown. “Meneris, it was an _accident_ \- he had no more idea that could happen than I did! The man has a right to know how close we are to being able to send him home, after all!”

Leto glanced up at the sound of the other elf’s voice, trying not to flinch at how angry he sounded. “Apologies, I’ll leave you alone.”

“He almost killed you Dorian! He shouldn’t come here to bother us at all!” Meneris snapped as he glared at his husband. 

Dorian sighed and stared at the door rather than at either man. “No, Meneris; he did nothing of the sort. He wasn’t to know I’d never experienced a magical discharge under those circumstances before - and neither of us had any way of knowing it would have _that_ effect; I’ve never read of such a thing happening, and if _I_ didn’t know of the risk then how was _he_ to know?” He tapped the floor testily with one foot. “And the man has a right to ask of me when we can send him home - after all, it’s our fault he was dragged into the wrong Thedas. You would have thought _one_ of us would have had enough wit left to notice his completely different armour, for a start.”

“It’s alright Dorian, I’m sorry I disturbed you and your husband. If you can tell me where to find my si---, Varania, I will go to her,” Leto said quietly.

“Fine, get him home and I hope to never see him again. At least your _amicus_ has never done that to you,” Meneris said just as testily. 

Dorian seemed about to reply but then shook his head slightly and turned back to Leto. “Varania is at the College. Come on, it’s simpler if I show you,” he shrugged.

“Only if it will be no bother; I don’t want to cause more trouble, Dorian,” Leto said as he finally lifted his head and glanced to see Meneris pouring himself a drink and heading towards the balcony.

Dorian reached for his staff and slung it on his back before gently ushering Leto back out, closing the door behind himself as he followed.

“Meneris can carry on all he likes but really, he has no right to. He wasn’t the one thrown into the Deep Fade, after all,” he shrugged as he moved past the elf to lead the way back down the stairs. “And really, I think Meneris really ought to have learned by now not to throw his weight around like that - much as he may shout and carry on, he _isn’t_ the Inquisitor any more and actions have far more consequences now. He can’t just wade in with his fists when he’s angry about something - which after recent events really ought to be something he keeps in mind.” He fingered the small scar beneath his eye with a troubled look. “One of these days he’s going to take his anger out on the wrong person. I don’t much care for being in the firing line - or being used to teach him a lesson.”

“Still, I did hurt you, Dorian; and he _is_ your husband after all. I should be grateful he didn’t do worse than that to me,” Leto said before falling quiet for a moment. “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you and him, other than leaving?” he asked.

“No, you did _not_ hurt me,” retorted Dorian, still frowning. “I was physically unharmed, and doubtless I would have woken up in my own time eventually. It was quite disconcerting at the time, I’ll grant you that - but it’s hardly as though you did that deliberately, after all. I wasn’t altogether with it fully when you left, but I _do_ remember the look on your face and it told me quite plainly that what happened to me had never happened with your own Dorian - you were hardly to know it would happen to me. I’m still not entirely sure just what exactly happened, though I’ve been talking to Anders and other mages at the College since then, and they’ve informed me that the Harrowing that southern mages were forced to go through in their ghastly Circles involved being forced to drink a sizeable quantity of lyrium which would force them deep into the Fade, where they would be expected to duel with a demon.”

He halted and turned to stare at Leto. “I rather think that what you unwittingly did was to emulate the first part of that - only on a far larger scale than a simple draught of lyrium would do. Not only did you flood my senses with lyrium at a moment when I was wide open and unaware of the possible consequences, but your lyrium was providing a direct conduit to the very Fade itself. If I’d actually stopped for a moment and actually _thought_ , I should have realised the danger myself and been prepared for it. I dare say your Dorian had already worked out just how your magic is fueled and thus was already prepared, which is why it never happened to him. But it’s a jolly good job it _did_ happen, because we might never have found a way to bring Fenris back - or have even the first notion of how to send _you_ back.”

“It’s not like there will ever be a chance for _that_ to happen now anyway,” Leto griped before catching himself. “Regardless, I do feel bad about what I did to you; and if it will help ease your husband’s mood, I wish to make amends however I can.” 

“Nonsense,” said Dorian with a wave of his hand. “What is all this about making amends? Meneris is the one at fault - he and _his_ damnable moods! They’ve gotten him into trouble before this; they very nearly spelled disaster just before Adamant. This scar on my face - _that_ is the fault of his moods as well, reacting without thinking! Never you mind Meneris and his moods - leave _me_ to deal with that, Leto. You shouldn’t be so swift to seek out trouble when you’ve plenty of your own already to deal with.” He sighed. “I take it from your comment about chances that matters have not exactly run smoothly with my counterpart then?”

“No,” Leto said quietly before resuming walking. “I am not Fenris, I cannot split my heart as he does, and I have never loved ...I fear he holds Zevran’s death over my head and if there was a chance for us to save what was brewing, I doubt it. And with Anders recovered, and ...and...us re-learning who we were before he became corrupted has not helped matters,” the elven warrior said as they walked. 

Dorian hesitated a moment, then halted Leto with a hand upon his forearm. He stared up into the elf’s eyes. 

“Leto... for what it’s worth... I’m sorry about Zevran. I don’t know our own Zevran as well as I should, but I know that if he died I would be rather saddened by it - and I could see how much his death has affected you all. And he should never have been locked away like that - for which I am heartily sorry. Leto... it is not _you_ who should be asking how to make amends, but we here at Skyhold.”

“I miss him so much,” Leto said before he tried to stop his own tears as he felt how much he missed both the other elf, and the other Dorian in that moment. “I’m sorry, I think… Dumat, I haven’t had a chance to really talk about him or...please, forgive me,” Leto said before turning so Dorian couldn’t see him falling apart as things hit him.

“Leto,” said Dorian gently. “Let me go speak to Ellowynne and Varania. I can come find you afterwards - perhaps you should go speak to your Dorian. Just... talk. You’re both in pain; you shouldn’t be making each other hurt even worse now. Were I in his shoes... Just talk, Leto. He must need you more than I think perhaps you can know.”

“Hard to talk to someone who ...who said they loved you, Dorian,” Leto said before he covered his face and turned away. “This is affecting me more than I thought, I ...though I could see you and not be affected, as long as we just talked about getting me home. I’m sorry. I’ll go try to talk with him, just forgive me if it’s too much still.” Leto wiped his face as he straightened up and tried to compose himself. “Always hated crying, especially the headache after.”

Dorian gave him a sympathetic look. “I concur,” he nodded. “I’ll come find you later then. And... Leto?” He gave him a sad smile. “Good luck. Though I pray to Dumat that you don’t need it.”

The magister gave him a nod of farewell before turning and continuing on to the main entrance of the keep. Taking the stairs to the courtyard two at a time, he was swiftly gone from view.

Leto turned and headed back to their rooms, his heart heavy and his mind on their brief talk. He was so preoccupied he almost slammed into someone turning a corner in front of him. As it was he still ran into whoever it was hurrying in the hall. The blond-haired man stumbled back a step, nearly dropping the books clutched in his arms, before rubbing his shoulder which had been dealt a glancing blow. He glanced up.

It was Anders. His amber eyes widened slightly with sudden recognition and then he pulled away, backing away several paces.

Leto’s eyes widened as he realized it was the other Anders, the one who had turned his world into nothing but pain and without blood magic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped as he plastered himself to the other wall away from the blond mage. “Don’t hurt me, again, please,” he whispered as he dropped his gaze and stilled. 

Anders halted as he stared at Leto, and he felt an uneasy stab of guilt. “I - I won’t,” he said quietly. “I have no desire to ever do that to another person so long as I should live.” 

Leto dropped his gaze and stared at the floor. “Please let me pass by, I won’t move, I won’t do anything,” he breathed as he caught himself trembling at the thought of this Anders getting close enough to do _that_ to him again.

“Didn’t you hear me?” snapped Anders, hating himself for the sharp tone that had crept into his voice but unable to stop it. “I _said_ I won’t hurt you! You’re free to pass - I’m not stopping you!” He glanced away, hating the horrible guilty feeling he couldn’t quell.

His tone made Leto whimper before hurrying past Anders with as much room as he could give the other mage before dashing down the hall until he was sure the blond was well away from him, before sliding down the wall to catch his breath and calm down. “Leto...you stupid, stupid fool,” he chastised himself as he sat there. 

Anders stood still as he listened to Leto’s footsteps hurrying away, and then he slumped against the wall, feeling wretched. He stared at his feet, then sighed. Straightening up, he continued on his way towards the College, his heart heavy as he tried to bury the feeling of guilt deep down once more.

Leto finally pulled himself up to his feet and returned to their room only to find Dorian sitting by the fireplace and their Anders likely sleeping or something in the other room. He approached the other mage quietly, and cleared his throat. “May… may we speak?’ he asked. 

Dorian glanced up, then shrugged. “If you like,” he said listlessly.

“Only if you wish to speak to me, I’d rather you do so willingly. If you aren’t up to it, I can leave you alone,” Leto said softly.

Dorian gestured languidly at the chair on the other side of the fireplace. “Anders is sleeping, and... I’m none too keen on the silence just now. My own thoughts are pretty poor company.” He glanced at the fire flickering in the grate. “I keep having to remind myself that Zevran isn’t really dead. But between the pitying looks of the servants and this damnable charade we have to keep up, and the silence in here with him gone... and some of the dreams I’ve been having... it’s hard to believe he isn’t _really_ dead. It’s... lonely.” 

He glanced up at Leto, a look of raw vulnerability in his grey eyes. “I’ve... never been bothered by silence before. Not like this.”

“It can get to you quite a bit when you’re not used to it,” Leto said as he took the chair. “Can… can I do anything for you?” he asked finally. 

“I don’t know,” replied Dorian, a wistful note creeping into his voice as he went on, “I... can you? I don’t feel quite myself, and it’s quite... unnerving. I’ve felt as though this is all not quite real somehow - or maybe _I’m_ not quite real. Do - do you... understand?”

“A bit, yes. It’s unreal, it feels like I should just go to my office and work but I know this isn’t home. It can’t help that you’re near the other you for so long,” Leto said quietly. 

“I’m not meant to be here,” Dorian nodded. “It feels as though I’m somehow _fading_ \- as if I’ll just... cease to exist or something.”

“You’re not going to cease to exist. Have you spoken with your double at all? I would with mine, but Fenris hates me,” Leto said as he glanced to the other man, unsure about offering a comforting touch.

Dorian shook his head. “I haven’t left this room since Fenris brought us back from seeing Zevran. I’ve lost track of time. I’m not even sure how long you were gone just now.”

“You can leave the room, you know. It was just a couple of hours, but it felt longer after running into the other Anders,” Leto said quietly. “We could take a walk, leave a note for Anders, maybe getting out of here will help you feel better.” 

“I... I know, I just... haven’t felt like leaving,” shrugged Dorian. “After all, we’re not even supposed to be here - it’s not our world, and... well.” He sat up a little straighter, giving his head a small shake. “Perhaps you’re right; maybe I need fresh air, a change of scenery.”

“Maybe … we could get Fenris to take you to Zevran? Help you remember he’s not actually dead?” Leto suggested though it hurt him to say it.

Dorian shook his head. “It would only make it harder when I have to come back here, to the silence again. And in any case, I don’t want to have people wondering where I might have gone - surely my double and the other mages will find some way to send us all home soon?” The look he gave Leto was almost pleading. The elf didn’t think he’d ever seen the magister look this uncertain of himself before.

“I did see Dorian, and he was going to check in with Anders’ daughter and my si--, with their Varania to see how close they were to getting us back. Maybe we can let some light in, talk until he comes to update us?” Leto offered. 

“If you like,” nodded Dorian, glancing at the heavy drapes covering the windows.

“If you like as well, I don’t want it to be that we’re doing just what I want, Dorian,” Leto said before going to open the drapes and pouring them drinks. He left a glass of wine on the table between them before sipping at his own drink.

Dorian flinched at the brightness of the daylight then glanced round, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight before he reached for the other glass of wine. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “And we may as well be doing as you wish, for Dumat knows I certainly seem to have no idea of what _I_ want.”

“I don’t want a fight again, Dorian, is all,” Leto said tiredly before leaning his head back and sighing. “I’m sorry, for everything,” he added before falling quiet again.

“So am I,” replied Dorian before taking a sip of his wine. “And... I don’t want a fight either. Not any more.”

“I wish I could just stay here, but I know I can’t. I’ll go back, and hope for the best,” Leto said quietly, his gaze on the fireplace as he thought on everything that had happened to them. 

“I just want to be in my own rooms, with my own things around me, and not feel as though I’m slowly disappearing into nothing like - like Cole,” replied Dorian, with a shudder. “And that ghastly business of what Vengeance made Zevran do put well behind us all and that _wrongness_ under the Rookery dealt with. I don’t know what Josephine’s done with that in our absence, but -” He blinked, then a look of dismay crossed his face. “Dumat - Leto, how long have we been gone? When did Fenris bring us through to this world?”

Leto shrugged, unsure himself as he stared ahead, surprised to feel wetness on his eyelashes again. “No idea, feels like an eternity to me.” He didn’t bother with wiping his face dry since he was tired of hiding his feelings. 

“Fenris told Josephine we’d be gone only two weeks,” said Dorian, preoccupied. “It must be getting pretty close to that now - Dumat, it may even be past that! We might have a few days’ grace - after all, there were plenty of times we set off on some errand somewhere that took longer than expected. But the longer we’re gone, the worse it will be for Josephine - she needs us there to support her as she winds the Inquisition down, she can’t do it alone. Someone already made one attempt on either my or Zevran’s life - and for all we know, they might have been working their way through the Council. We have to go back soon - they’ll back down if you’re there, but if -” 

He looked up at Leto and broke off. “Leto? L-Leto, are you... crying?” he whispered, incredulous.

“Yes...seems that way. I don’t have as good control over my emotions here, and you know what? I don’t care right now. We’ve been through a lot and it started once I sat still and thought about all that’s happened in the last month, and I have feelings; I’m sick of hiding them all the time. I just hope I can be more normal once we get back and not go back to being that bastard that abused you all. I guess I’m affected by being around Fenris and this is how it shows,” Leto replied as he sniffed and tried to wipe some tears away. 

Dorian blinked, then dropped his gaze. “If we keep Zevran away from the Rookery and whatever is below it, then _he_ , at least, will be himself,” he said slowly, his voice quiet. “And maybe if he isn’t baiting you and _you’re_ not being exposed to that - that _sickness_... then maybe things won’t go back to how they were. Not like that.” He stared down at his glass of wine, carefully not looking at Leto.

The elf glanced over and sighed. “Does the sight of my tears bother you that much Dorian?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry,” replied Dorian. “Though I know you’ve seen _me_ weep. You... always seemed too strong for tears.”

“No, just too afraid to show weakness. It would have gotten me killed as a slave. I _do_ have feelings despite what I let people see of me.” Leto admitted before taking a long sip and turning back to the fire. “I’m not that strong, I’m not...what a lot of people seem to think of me.” 

Dorian was silent for several minutes, staring into his wine, not drinking it. Finally, without lifting his head, he spoke quietly. “At Adamant you... called me _amatus_ ,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “Did... did you mean it?”

“At the time? Yes, I did,” Leto replied quietly. 

“If I hadn’t been such a damned idiot and brought the wrong man back with me... what do you suppose would have happened?” pondered Dorian.

“I wanted to talk, to...to hope that you felt the same for me. I’m so lonely Dorian, you knew that. You were the only ...you were the only bright spot in my life and I wanted to take a chance that you felt something for me. If you’d said no, or didn’t want more than a casual fuck, it might have broken me,” Leto admitted before he reached for his drink with a shaking hand.

“I thought he was you, when I brought him back. Fenris, I mean. Took him to my room, laid him down in my bed just as I would have done for you. Held him, the way I would have held you - because I didn’t know any better and thought I was bringing _you_ back. And in the morning, I... I called him... _amatus_.” Dorian’s voice was hushed. He hadn’t once looked up from the glass of wine.

“And when he asked me what I’d just called him, it... I thought you’d changed your mind. That after what you’d said, you’d turned around and decided you didn’t want that from me, and - it was some few minutes before I could master myself enough to trust I wouldn’t make a blithering fool of myself and start crying, and then when I realised I’d brought the wrong man back -” Dorian’s voice cracked, and he finally took a hasty second sip of his wine.

“What happened then?” Leto asked quietly, his gaze on the fire so he wouldn’t just go to pieces in front of the other mage.

“We... we fucked,” Dorian admitted quietly. “And he took me as hard as you ever had, and for a little while I forgot, because it was so easy to think he was you and then... and then afterwards, I remembered again, and I... and then I _did_ weep.” He was staring at the wine again. “And I missed you. I missed you so much that it physically hurt.”

“I see….” Leto said softly as he let his imagination run a little too wild about what they must have been like, and how Dorian likely fell to pieces afterward. “Did he at least take care of you when you cried?” the elf asked.

Dorian nodded. “He... I think it dismayed him. He apologised, that he wasn’t the right man. He cleaned me up and apologised that he couldn’t heal. He - he hadn’t discovered his magic at that point, you see. That came a while later - Zevran turned up whilst I was still asleep and he’d barely woken up, and you know how Zevran always liked to push for a reaction? Well, he got one - Fenris was so furious that fire came to him - and then ice. And when Zevran wouldn’t back off... well. Zevran called him _carissimi_ , and got a shard of ice through his throat for his troubles.”

“I see; well, Zevran does know how to push buttons so that doesn’t surprise me at all.” Leto frowned as he realized his drink was done. “Do you need more wine, I need a refill before we go on.” 

Dorian blinked; he’d taken barely two sips of his own wine. “No, I - this is fine,” he managed.

“Alright.” Leto quickly refilled his glass and brought the decanter back with him so he wouldn’t have to get up until they were done. “Is there anything else about his time with you, or questions you have for me Dorian?” the elf asked as he sat back and sipped his drink.

Dorian finally looked up, and Leto could see his eyes were red and wet.

“I don’t know what went on between Fenris and Zevran,” he said quietly. “But somehow he found out - or worked out - just what had been going on. How you would go to Zevran - the things you did - Dumat, we’d all heard the screaming. But I’d never let myself think about what was going on up there. What you and Zevran had between you - it had always been made very clear to everyone that it was no-one else’s business. Even _I_ didn’t dare ask. And Zevran always seemed fine afterwards - _venhedis_ , we were all terrified of him, no-one dared breathe a word about it to _either_ of you! And you’d always been so... so careful with me. Never even so much as raised your voice, save maybe once or twice! No matter how roughly we fucked, you’d always taken care of me afterwards, and I knew that I was always safe with you! And then -” He swallowed hard.

“Leto... how could you do such things? How could you put Zevran through that?” His voice shook as he stared at Leto, asking him now instead of hurling it at him in accusation. Dorian desperately needed to know. And Leto realised that the look in the magister’s eyes was a pleading for reassurance.

Leto took another sip before he started to speak, his voice… not flat but not as rough as he felt either. “It began simply as bedroom games, we both had ...things we liked. I needed to control, to be...to dominate and he was willing to let me do things that I can’t do with others. Tried but wound up hurting bedmates and often flings were very short. But Zevran could take it, wanted it at times; we both let our darkness, our demons take control often. He let me do things I’d wished for but never dared asked to do.

“At some point things shifted, it became more penance for him but I didn’t realize it until we were both too deep into it. I think part of how it went so far is that something is broken in both of us - definitely in me, if not Zevran. Most of his willingness to take the pain was due to the influence of Skyhold - the evil there that none of us realized. Some of it may have twisted me as well, but most of the terrible things I’ve done? It was me, and the hate, the anger, the hurt and fear I’ve built up over the years. The ways in which I broke after Endrin’s death, the mantle of Commander and the ways Vengeance hurt us all just combined to make it a pit we couldn’t get out of. And I never loved Zevran - not the way he supposedly cared for me. That made it easier in a way, because I felt remorse but never the way I felt for hurting others. The way he goaded me as part of his routine, part of our back and forth made it so fucking easy. Some of it was fear, fear and anger and … resentment. I want to blame it on everything but me; but I can’t, Dorian. It was a broken, dark and dangerous thing we had and now you’re both free of it. Much as I want to hate Fenris, I should thank him for saving you both from me,” Leto finished finally, his eyes closing as he braced for the other man’s response.

Dorian swallowed hard. “And if Zevran begged you for that now?” he asked softly.

“I wouldn't…. I can’t,” Leto replied as he glanced to the other man. “Aside from it being wrong? You’d kill me if I looked at him wrong, or dared lay a hand on him if Fenris didn’t beat you to it first. I’ve fucked things up, and it is what it is. Even if he begged me, I would not lay a hand on him, and I swear to keep ...to not hurt you or him again.” 

“And if there were no Fenris... no _me_ holding you back,” said Dorian quietly. “No threat of retribution from anyone. Would you? Or do you truly have no desire to... to have that itch scratched, as it were? Is it still there?”

“I… I don’t want to discuss that right now. I just want to get home. You have Zevran now, you don’t have to concern yourself with what I might do for those needs, _if_ they resurface. And no, I will not ask that of Anders, he’s been abused enough in the Circle before he was Inquisitor,” Leto replied before scrubbing at his face tiredly and wishing they were done. 

“Leto... I’m trying to understand,” said Dorian intently. “I thought I knew you. And then I learned that I didn’t know you at all. There was a whole other side of you that you’d never shown me. I - I’d gone from feeling safe to my whole world falling apart around me - everything I thought I knew, that I’d trusted in, suddenly turned upon its head. And then Fenris had brought Zevran to my rooms, and he, too, was not the man I thought I knew, and I didn’t know what to believe - the man I trusted in, I now feared - and I realised that the man I’d feared was not the whole truth of _him_ either. And now I’m trying to learn what manner of man you _really_ are, Leto. And I need to know... just which Leto was it who called me _amatus_? And which man did I - did I fall in love with?”

“Does it matter? You’ve got Zevran now, and whatever love you might have had for me seems to be gone,” Leto replied bitterly, his voice gone lower as he tried to keep calm. Dorian didn’t deserve the fury that he could feel clawing through him. 

Dorian made a small noise of annoyance as he glanced away. “It sounds like you’ve made as many assumptions of me as I have you,” he muttered before he took a mouthful of wine.

“What do you mean by that?” Leto asked in annoyance, his gaze hardened as he turned to stare at Dorian.

Dorian swallowed the wine as he stared at the fire. “I wouldn’t have been half so furious if I didn’t still love you, Leto,” he said finally, his voice low. “It hurt to think that the man I loved could be capable of such acts of cruelty. Yes, I was feeling protective of Zevran - and yes, I love him. But that doesn’t mean I could just forget all the long months _we’d_ had, dancing around each other, knowing how I felt and too afraid to admit it - or that I could just stop, give all that up, in the space of a bare two weeks. I have been hurt, angry, and utterly terrified, all at once, and this whole place is just doing something to me on some level as well, but - but I still feel for you. It would be so much easier if I didn’t - easier for _both_ of us - but then I was never one to take the easy way in anything.”

“Hard to believe you still love me, or care the way, you’ve gone in on me non-stop since we’ve all been here. Regardless, I don’t think I can split my heart as Fenris does, at least not successfully. Almost a year with you, Dorian, and to be thrown over in two weeks fucking hurts!” Leto snapped finally, as fresh tears fell and he sobbed brokenly, giving in to the fear and pain he’d been carrying around. 

Dorian opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, swallowing down all the retorts that had risen to his tongue at Leto’s words. He closed his eyes, the wine glass cradled in his hands, and waited in silence.

Leto sat up finally and wiped his face on his sleeve, his voice shaking as he spoke. “Sorry… I guess being close to Fenris is affecting me, I didn’t mean to snap but I just hit a wall with my feelings. I just need time, and once we’re back we can try to talk. Right now, I just want to go back there. It's not home, no place is for me but it's better than nothing. I’m ...broken Dorian, I hurt you all and I just want it to get better somehow - and I can’t do that here,” he finished on a low whisper.

“Perhaps we were all broken, and never knew it,” murmured Dorian. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, I’m the one who owes you all amends,” Leto said softly before taking half his drink in one go. “What do you want going forward, once we get back there?” he asked. 

“We have to help Josephine shut down the Inquisition - wind it up, end it,” said Dorian slowly. “Whatever it is that has such a malevolent influence still beneath the Rookery, we need to put an end to it, so it will pose no further threat whilst the decommissioning goes on. I am under no illusions as to the danger we’ll face as well, from whatever elements of the Inquisition would prefer to see it continue - Zevran and I will need your protection, and Josephine as well - until it’s over and she’s returned to Antiva. After that... I have no idea. I shall be expected to return to Tevinter, I should think. I don’t know what plans, if any, Zevran may have. Of course, we shall have to ensure protection for Anders as well - but I think no-one will dare raise a hand against any of us for as long as you are at Skyhold.” 

He finally glanced back at Leto. “As for what may happen between us all... I have no idea.”

“I’m not impervious, Dorian; me being there means nothing. Half my soldiers would happily kill me for my title and the other half think cozying up is their key to a rank. People fear Zevran more than me, so I don’t know what protection I can give, just being one man,” Leto replied as he rubbed his temples, and tried to stave off the headache he could feel brewing.

“Zevran was poisoned; nearly died,” said Dorian. “It could just as easily have been me. Probably _was_ meant to be me, really; after all, a bar of poisoned soap, in my rooms?” he shrugged. “But no-one had ever tried to poison me before Zevran effectively moved into my rooms at Fenris’ instigation. As far as anyone knew, I was no longer in favour with Leto and he was no longer visiting the Spymaster either. No doubt they hoped to take us both out now we were no longer under your protection.” He sighed. “Still... at the very least they won’t dare make _overt_ moves towards us with you around.”

“Fine...I’ll make it clear I am still in charge while we dissolve the Inquisition and that you are both to be treated well even as we end things in the fortress,” Leto said tiredly, his patience and his mind worn out. “Anything else, or do you mind if I lie down for a while? This ...conversation has given me a headache.”

Dorian set the glass of wine down on the small table, barely touched save for those three small mouthfuls - barely even sips - that Leto had seen him take. The magister slumped in his chair as he shook his head, face still turned towards the fire. “No. Nothing else,” he said colourlessly.

“Are you sure? I don’t know if I will have it in me to come back to this any time soon, or before we get back to our world,” Leto said as he looked to the other man, and tried to give him a smile.

“What would be the point? You don’t believe me anyway,” replied Dorian, the listless tone returned to his voice as he stared at the fire.

“Please don’t… just give me a little time, Dorian. It’s all I ask,” Leto begged of him.

“As you wish,” replied Dorian. “You should take some elfroot before you lie down. For that headache.”

Leto curled in on himself as he nodded. He wanted comfort, but didn’t think he could ask for that anymore, not from the other mage. “For what it's worth, I _am sorry_ ,” he said as he sat there in a miserable ball.

“Are you?” asked Dorian, and finally looked at him. “For what? What exactly are you sorry for, Leto? Skyhold? This? The fact you don’t believe me? Because it all bloody hurts, Leto. That you don’t believe me - damn it, Leto, when have I ever lied to you? Why would I start now? Yes, I _do_ love you but you don’t want to hear that, because it’s too bloody inconvenient I suppose? Now you have Anders, the last thing you want to hear is that I still care - is that it? It doesn’t occur to you that maybe I’ve heard that all too often - that I’m an inconvenience, that people don’t believe I could possibly care - that -” He looked away, blinking rapidly. “I do care,” he said hoarsely. “I _do._ ”

“I never said you were an inconvenience, Dorian, but it’s damned hard to think you still care when you turned around and called Zevran _Amatus_ so easily when I have never heard it from you aside from that once before the fight. Two weeks gone, almost two weeks here and you call him that as easily as you breathe? Fine, you still care, you still love me. But where does that leave all of us Dorian? I said I’m sorry, I get it, I do, that I hurt you. I literally hurt Zevran, you and Anders if we’re honest. You still caring is not an inconvenience - do not put words in my mouth! I apologized, I just asked for some time is all. I’m sorry, alright? I’m so, so fucking sorry for doubting you, for hurting you. I’m… sorry, Dorian,” Leto finished as he caught himself trembling and about to cry again. 

“I’m not myself,” whispered Dorian. “I... I don’t know where that came from, that - about being an inconvenience, I - I’m sorry.”

“I think we should just stop talking, it's making it worse,” Leto said before he forced himself up and headed to the bedroom so he could lie down before he lost his composure. His eyes were greeted by the sight of Anders sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands pressed to his mouth and staring up at him with startled, wide eyes.

The blond mage blinked at him then lowered his hands. “I was trying to keep quiet,” he said before giving a little self-conscious smile. “Didn’t want to disturb you. Sounded like you both needed to talk.”

“Yeah, not sure if it did any good though. I hope we didn’t wake you up,” Leto said as he started to pull clothes off and climbed into bed with a groan.

“N-no, I was already awake,” replied Anders, watching Leto as he moved around the room, undressing, then getting into the bed; he didn’t move from his place on the edge of the bed. “At least... you’re talking now? I mean, that’s got to be better than the shouting - or the silence. Right?”

“I don’t know… I might prefer the silence to how I feel now, Anders,” Leto said quietly, burying his face in the pillow as he tried to get comfortable. 

“Do you want me to do something for your headache or would you rather I fetched you an elfroot potion?” Anders asked, his voice a little subdued. “I... heard what you said. About the other Anders. If you’d rather I didn’t use magic, then I’ll understand.”

“If you can help, I appreciate it, and he didn’t touch my head...it was my chest he used to do that to me. Besides, I trust you, love, and I’m hoping I’ll sleep soon, or something. I just hurt too much after that. You should keep Dorian company if you’re awake, he was feeling the silence and I’m not good company right now,” Leto said as he closed his eyes again. 

Anders rose to his feet and moved closer, stretching a hand out to rest it lightly against Leto’s head as he channelled healing magic. “Alright,” he replied. “I’ll go talk to him. Sleep well, love.”

He stepped away then withdrew, drawing the door closed behind him, his expression troubled.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Anders are unhappy about Zevran's job prospects in Denerim.

Fenris was quiet as he sat with Invictus, his mind unable to stop spinning over the talk they’d had and the way he’d slept in between Zevran and Invictus, still unable to feel comfortable with the other elf at his back. He’d felt pushed to go to Anders, rather than let him have a moment on his own time. He looked up when he heard a splash of his glass being refilled. “Thanks, I hadn’t realized it was empty.”

“No worries love, you seem like you need a drink,” Vic said quietly, his own expression thoughtful. 

“I’m afraid, Vic,” Fenris said as he took the other man’s hand in his. “I’m afraid of how I responded to a request to give Anders affection and how I couldn’t do more than hold Zevran’s hand.”

“I admit I wasn’t thrilled with how Zevran pushed both of us to show Anders affection but I realized how touch starved he’s been aside from Zevran. I felt bad, but my heart hasn’t been in the right place for anyone, lately,” Vic said as he squeezed the warrior’s hand in return.

“I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore, I just ...I just want to do whatever we’re going to do. I guess it will get better now that we’re in the College’s guest quarters. I just want to sleep and wake up in Denerim,” Fenris said before he got up to sit on their bed.

“Love, you know that’s not an answer to our problems,” Vic chided gently.

“I know but it's what I want,” Fenris replied softly. “I don’t know what else to do Vic. I’ll try and show affection but I can’t pretend my heart is in it when I don’t feel like touching or being touched.” 

“I know, but we all know how much it means to Anders to have a casual touch, or a kiss on the cheek. We can both try at least?” Vic asked as he sat behind the elf and rested his cheek against Fenris’ shoulder.

“I’ll try, but this fear still has me in it’s grip. I just want things to be better; I want to go home to Nevarra, not Denerim, but that’s not to be. I just want ...I still wish that fall had killed me, or at least knocked me out and I could skip all of this,” the elf said bitterly.

“You know you can’t so stop it Fenris. Talk to me, what’s the problem, really, here?” Vic asked as he wrapped his arms around the elven mage.

“You’ll just get mad at me Vic,” Fenris replied quietly.

“I’m going to get mad if you _don’t_ talk to me - and stop making this like getting blood from a stone!” Vic replied.

“Fine… having Leto around has been affecting me. I’ve been having dreams, nightmares really. Things I know I have never done, especially to Zevran and Anders, to Dorian. I’ve kept it to myself because I’ve been so much trouble, I figured no one would care if I was having problems. I need them to go home - not just so they can heal, but so I can get some sleep. I think talking in my sleep was because of their proximity.” Fenris sighed and leaned back into the hug.

“Yes, that’s a problem, and for Dumat’s sake stop saying we don’t care about you. It’s a fucking lie and it's tiresome to hear. We love you, and this pitiful,’ no one cares’ is stopping today - and if you keep it up I will walk off from you. Now, assuming you can stop being stupid and talk to Zevran and Anders, we’ll figure out how the others are affecting you and what we can do to make it better. If you stop thinking the worst, maybe we can get ahead,” Vic finished.

“Do you wish things to be over then, Vic?” Fenris asked quietly.

“No, and stop trying to get out of it,” Vic replied tersely. He held the elf when he felt Fenris tense in his arms. “Stop running away, and fucking talk. Will you listen and tell them what’s going on? Please?” he asked.

“As you wish Invictus,” Fenris said quietly, his gaze on the wall ahead of them. “I just hope no one else goes in on me for not speaking up.” 

“No one is going to go in on you - right, Zevran?” Vic asked as he looked up to see the blond elf standing in the doorway. 

The blond elf arched an eyebrow. “Certainly not I,” he shrugged. “But then, I have no idea what Fenris may have done to make him think I would. Has either of you seen Anders? He has not returned to the other room and I wished to ask him if all of his brewing equipment has been brought over or if this is all.” He jerked his head back in the direction of the other room.

Vic nudged Fenris none too gently to speak up as he looked to the blond elf. “No idea, I think he was going to the research labs, but I’m sure he will be back soon enough.” 

Zevran hummed to himself. “Perhaps it is good news that has detained him? We can hope so, yes?” He smiled. “Well, perhaps this is everything - in which case, we should be glad there is not reason to go back over to the Keep.” He tapped a finger thoughtfully on the door frame.

“I can hope not, especially with how the staff treated us last night,” Vic said as he gave Fenris one last gentle squeeze before pulling away from the elf. “I’ll get us something to eat, and I’m sure you two could stand to catch up without me hovering around, right, Fen? See you later.” Invictus headed off to the kitchens, hopeful the two elves could talk.

Fenris watched his love leave with a scowl before glancing at Zevran. 

“Catch up?” echoed Zevran as he folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “As if we did not all share one bed last night!” He smiled at Fenris. “Have you both been so busy then since we moved our things over here? It has not been very interesting in Anders’ room, I am afraid - he has more stuff to move than any of us, I think, so I have only been pulling things out of boxes and then not being sure of where to put them.”

“No...Vic wishes me to speak of something I held back from you all, not another person I slept with. But Leto’s presence has been affecting me, and I have kept silent on it,” Fenris said before looking down at his hands. 

“Hmm. Much as the echoes beneath the Rookery were affecting me and I said nothing, eh? And I have been wondering just how much the presence of the other Anders has been affecting _our_ Anders. Some of the things he has murmured of in his sleep... and his reactions to things....” He tapped a forefinger on his chin thoughtfully. “This would be why you spoke in your sleep, you think?”

“Probably, I’d rather not think on doing that,” Fenris said as he continued to look at his hands, wishing he could not have heard about Anders in the moment he confessed his own worries. He kept it to himself as he considered what they could do. “I just hope they can leave sooner than later.” 

“As, I think, do we all - and none more than them, eh?” answered Zevran. “So, the speaking in your sleep - do you think Leto’s presence has affected you in other ways also?”

“I don’t know, I just want to sleep, but then I just have dreams of things I’ve not done to you, or Anders or Dorian. I just want them gone,” Fenris repeated dully. 

Zevran went still, the smile slipping. “You have dreamed of what Leto did to my other self,” he said quietly. “Yes, I have dreamed of that also, though from that Zevran’s view point. I have also dreamed of doing the things he did, and in those moments between dreaming and waking I have been certain that what I dreamed of Leto doing... that I deserved it. I am sorry that you have dreamed of doing those things, Fenris. I know you would not ever hurt me like that - or Anders, and certainly not Dorian. He is your _amicus_ , after all.”

Fenris looked at him, sure there was something behind his wording but thought better of voicing his inner thoughts. Instead he looked away and shrugged. “Regardless, I want them gone,” he said instead. 

Zevran hadn’t moved from his position in the doorway as they spoke; now he turned slightly to rest his back against the door frame. “I have had those dreams less since their Zevran... ah... died,” he said slowly, guarding his words as they had no way of knowing who might be near enough to overhear. “But still, I have had them. Perhaps we are still too close to the Rookery, or perhaps all those nights sleeping there mean that it is taking time to fade. Perhaps they will not stop until that other Zevran’s... trace... and their presence is gone altogether. Believe me, Fenris, I want them gone as much as you do. I have had enough of pain to last me two lifetimes over; I do not wish to dream of more.”

Fenris shrugged again, his thoughts turning towards things he knew he should keep to himself. “Hopefully Anders will have news of being able to send them back.” 

“Indeed. Perhaps that is why he is taking so long,” replied Zevran. He frowned slightly. “What else would Invictus say we should speak of?” He arched his eyebrows. “I can hear it in your voice. You are hesitating. There is something else troubling you that you are not speaking of. Is that what Invictus was referring to? Surely not this matter of dreams?”

Fenris kept his gaze down as he spoke, almost too low for the other elf to hear. “I am still afraid. I don’t want to go to Denerim, I don’t want to keep starting over. Nevarra is home, not here, not Denerim. I want to stop being afraid, I want to be happy again and I’m finding it very difficult to do that. Even after last night, after talking and all of it, I still find myself wishing that fall had killed me or at the least had knocked me out; that I was still unconscious in the infirmary and could skip all of this and just wake up once all is done. I feel empty as you did - but it's not the same, I can feel but I don’t like how I am feeling. I’d rather just sleep until we leave,” the elf said in a rush before falling silent.

“We do not get to choose such things, Fenris,” said Zevran softly. “Some things must simply be endured. You think I like this inactivity? Why do you think I wished to go on ahead? I would rather have the road at my feet and a long day’s hike ahead of me, the ground for a bed and whatever the weather might throw at me than sleep in a feather bed and do nothing! But here I am. I must wait, as must you.”

“Then I’ll wait, but I just wish to get going or get them gone, something. However I can’t muster up the energy to try. Even when we go, it is not anywhere I wish to be Zevran, what about that?” Fenris asked just as quietly. 

“And you think I wanted Nevarra, eh? When you and Invictus and Anders were making such plans for it? There are four of us in this marriage, Fenris, and that means at least one of us will always be going somewhere or doing something they would rather they were not. It will always be a compromise. This time, we are going somewhere you do not wish to go. Next time it might be somewhere Invictus does not wish to go. But Nevarra did not hurt me and I could live with it well enough for the sake of you and Anders and Invictus. It was not a place I dreaded. And you - you can live with Denerim for the sake of us all, surely? There is nothing in Denerim for you to fear, after all. But Anders... Anders _fears_ Nevarra now, Fenris. Sebastian found him there and nearly hanged him. Demons found us there; you have been repairing the damage to the house from that most recent attack! And now Anders dreads that place. Me, if I could choose anywhere to live, it would be my beautiful Antiva - but that is not to be. So. I will go to Denerim, and so will you.”

Fenris glared at him, ready to argue but looked away after a moment. He kept quiet, his anger tamped down rather than give voice to the irritation at being told he had to go, and for Zevran never speaking up on not wanting to live in Nevarra to begin with.

Zevran narrowed his eyes as Fenris looked away, and then the Antivan shook his head and made a faint “tch” sound of annoyance.

“If that is all you have to say, then I will be in the other room,” he finally replied and turned away.

Fenris watched him turn away before he laid on the bed and closed his eyes. He hated curbing his tongue but he’d promised to try, and not letting every angry thought that flitted through his head get out of his mouth. 

Zevran closed the door and returned to the room he shared with Anders. Closing the door behind himself, he returned to the workbench where he’d set up Anders’ potion-making equipment. There was a particular item he’d needed, but in lieu of it then he was certain he could jury-rig something else up to suit his purposes. He turned to the pouch on the desk nearby, and began to sort through the various herbs and reagents he’d liberated from one of the teaching rooms earlier whilst they were ferrying boxes of Anders’ things up to the room.

He so did prefer to work with fresh felandaris, after all.

**

An hour later, Invictus returned to find Zevran working away and no sign of Fenris. “Zev? What happened when I left?”

Zevran frowned at the contents of the flask that was bubbling away over the flame of a spirit lamp; black vapours were wafting up a tube affixed to the top, through a complicated-looking set of apparatus - half of which looked as if it had been cobbled together on the fly - and a black liquid was dripping out of a tube at the other end of the desk into a different flask.

“Fenris said that he thinks he is being affected by Leto’s presence,” he said after a moment, almost absently, his eyes focused on what he was doing. “Dreaming of doing things to me, Anders and Dorian. It rather sounded like some dreams I had myself - particularly in the Rookery, when I touched the bed, and after. I think perhaps he was dreaming of being Leto, much as I dreamed of being that other Zevran.” He glanced over at the other flask briefly, then back to the one that was bubbling.

“That does not explain why you are here brewing and you two aren’t talking. I couldn’t have been more blatant trying to get you both to chat,” Vic remarked as he watched the elf work. 

“It seems there is nothing else he wished to discuss with me,” shrugged Zevran. “Was I supposed to merely stand there and the both of us say nothing more until you returned? I do not think either of us would achieve much doing that, hmm?” He stared intently at the bubbling mixture; it was much thicker now, clinging viscously to the insides of the flask.

“Zevran...there was plenty to discuss, what happened?” Vic asked again as he stared at the workbench. 

“A moment, please - I dare not let this crystallise, the results could be... unfortunate,” said Zevran, lifting a hand as he stared at the contents of the flask. “This is - ah!” He snatched the small spirit lamp away from beneath the bubbling flask then stepped away from the bench as he blew out the flame. He eyed the still-bubbling flask warily until the mixture ceased to boil under its own heat and grew still; only then did he straighten with a small exhalation before he turned back to Invictus. “My apologies; if it had crystallised, it would have been rather unfortunate - it becomes rather unstable in crystal form.” He set the lamp aside on the bench then ran a hand through his hair. 

“Fenris mentioned the dreams and that he was experiencing, as he thinks, the effects of being too near Leto - though he mentioned only the dreams. It was only afterwards that he mentioned once more that he does not wish to go to Denerim - and after I had thought this whole matter had been settled. After all, he already admitted to us that he has been to Denerim now and did not mind it so much - but no, suddenly it is an issue again, and it seems that it is an issue between he and I, and he grew angry though he would say nothing more. So, seeing as he had nothing _else_ to say to me, I left. I saw no point in standing there in silence.”

“What do you mean, still a problem? He said he’d go, Zevran; I know he’s agreed to it even if he doesn’t like the idea,” Vic asked in confusion, unsure what had happened between the two elves in the short time he’d been gone. “Please try to talk to him, I thought we’d made progress last night.” 

“Yes, he does not like the idea, and he feels he has to bring it up repeatedly that he does not like the idea, as if we have not heard all the other times he has brought it up - or as though he thinks that this time he will get a different result! ‘It is not anywhere I wish to be, what of that!’ he tells me - it is still an issue, and he thinks that by repeating it over and over it becomes less of an issue? Invictus, he may have said that he will go but every time he does this, I expect the next words from his mouth to be that he has changed his mind. If it were not an issue he would not feel the need to bring it up! He _knows_ Anders cannot go to Nevarra. This not a simple matter of not liking - Anders has been hurt far more by Nevarra than any of us. And yet Fenris will continually speak of it as though his dislike of going to Denerim were more important. And he had no intention of speaking to me of anything else but glared at me when I asked.” Zevran made a small sound of annoyance.

“I do not wish to be here; I do not like this waiting. But I stay. If I can stay, then he can go to Denerim - it is the same thing. And his constant insistence on reminding us he does not want to go does not endear him to me, Invictus.”

“What made it even come up? He seemed to be willing to talk when I left. Please Zevran, please - I am begging you,” Vic asked quietly, almost desperately. “Let me try and get him to be reasonable and just talk without bringing it up.” 

“I did not bring it up, Invictus,” said Zevran, quieter. “I did not ask. I simply confided that I, too, wished that the others were gone - that until then, we can do nothing, and that was the only reason I wished to go on ahead - because like him, I do not handle inactivity well. I thought I was speaking of something we have in common - not that he would see it only as a way to circle back around to him not wanting to go. I _tried_ to talk, Invictus. Truly. But I do not think Fenris wants to talk. So, rather than be glared at, I came back here to try and clear my mind by working.”

“Excuse me,” Vic said before heading into his own room and snatching the covers off of Fenris, startling the elf awake and almost getting a fireball for his trouble.

“What in the void is your problem?” Fenris snarled as he shook his hands free of fire.

“You just can’t stop yourself, can you?” Vic snarled in return as he watched the elf untangle himself. 

“Stop myself from what? Why can’t you let me alone Invictus? I was trying to get a damned nap and you can’t even let me have that?” Fenris snapped once he was free.

“You and this fucking argument about Denerim. You agreed to go, you said you’d move there - and yet you keep throwing it at Zevran! I thought we’d made progress last night? How did it even come up?” Vic asked as he kept a dispel at the ready in case his husband lost his control.

“He asked, and he also mentioned how he’d not wanted to go to Nevarra when we moved there. I kept quiet Vic, I didn’t start a fight and you want to come in here and yell at me? So I speak, it’s an issue, I don’t speak, it’s a problem too? What the fuck can I do to make any of you happy then?” Fenris asked as he watched Invictus, his eyes dark as he fought to maintain control of the fire he could feel trying to rise to his hands.

“Maybe not bringing up something you agreed to do like it’s still a problem! We get it, you don’t want to go to Denerim, Fenris, we _all_ get it. But you agreed to make this marriage work and dammit, you aren’t keeping your part of it by always bringing this up. You haven’t suggested an alternative, and you seem to resent any of us wanting to go. Either drop it or go back to Nevarra by yourself since you seem determined to be a child about leaving that house!” Vic screamed at him before he caught his own temper trying to rise to match the other man’s. 

Fenris went still at the sound of Vic’s voice and looked down. “As you wish, Hawke.” 

Zevran dashed in and halted in the doorway, hands clutching at the frame to stop himself tumbling forward in his hurry as he stared at them both, alarmed by Invictus’ screaming rage. His eyes went from Invictus to Fenris, the white-haired elf looking cowed, then he looked back again at Invictus.

“Did you need something, Zevran? I was in the middle of talking to Fenris,” Vic said. 

“You were screaming at him,” said Zevran, his own voice hushed. “I was alarmed.”

“I was screaming because I’m tired of him; I’m tired of fighting, Zev,” Vic replied before he ran his hands through his hair and stepped back. “I’m going to take a walk and cool off, I’ll be back in time for dinner.” 

Fenris remained where he was, stock still and staring down at the floor. It was taking most of his will to not just teleport out. 

Zevran straightened and lowered his hands from where they’d braced either side of the door frame, stepping aside as Invictus left before he glanced back into the room at Fenris.

“What did you say to him?” he said incredulously, his voice still hushed. 

Fenris glanced up, shook his head and slid down to sit on the floor now that Invictus was gone and he wasn’t held still by fear. 

Zevran took a wary step into the room. “When I heard him shouting like that...! _Brasca_ , if I had your teleporting trick then I do not think I could have gotten here any faster than I did just now!” He put a hand to his chest. “My heart, it is still racing - I was afraid....”

“Afraid of what?” Fenris asked quietly as he sat there, his own heart racing as he tried to calm himself. 

“I do not know - but I have so rarely heard Invictus so angry,” answered Zevran. “Perhaps I was afraid you would both come to blows. I do not know that trying to put myself between two angry mages would have been the smartest thing to do, but... well.”

“I’m no threat with my magic, I don’t know what I’m doing with it. The fight is over, you should go back to what you were doing, I’m no threat,” Fenris said as he stared at the floor.

“You really have no interest in talking with me, eh?” replied Zevran slowly. “I am dismissed. Very well. You know where to find me when that changes, Fenris.” He waited a moment to see if Fenris would speak, then sighed and turned away.

“I’m not dismissing you!” Fenris said angrily as he raised his head. “What do you want me to talk about then, Zevran? What?” he asked as he stared at the blond elf.

Zevran halted, and turned his head slightly. “You said I should go back to what I was doing,” he replied quietly. “And there was nothing specifically I wished to talk with you about, Fenris - merely... talk. That is what husbands do, after all. They take pleasure in one another’s company. They spend time together. They....” 

He finally turned back towards Fenris. “They do not scream at each other, or tell each other to go away. They do not continue to hurt each other.” He stared at Fenris sadly. 

“They love each other, Fenris.”

“I didn’t scream at you, I was the one getting screamed at. I kept quiet rather than cause a fight earlier, and I know husbands love each other,” Fenris said before getting up and dusting himself off. “If you wish me around, I will sit with you. It's better than sitting here terrified of getting dragged around by my hair again,” the elf said tersely.

“I would not allow Invictus to do that to you again,” replied Zevran. “It would not be the first time I have stood between you, even though either of you could hurt me far more than I could hurt you. I would still stand between you.” He tried to smile. “Why do you think I ran in here?”

Fenris stared at him for a moment, unsure if he believed that but didn’t dare say it. “I would break his arm before I allowed him to do that again, and I’ve cut my hair so not much for him to grab,” the elf said tiredly as he approached warily, and waited for Zevran to move.

Zevran shrugged. “It is as well that I would stand between you then,” he replied. “I do not think Invictus wants to hurt you, and I also think that you do not really want to hurt _him_. So, as before, I would stand between you both - because I do not think Invictus wants to hurt me, much as you did not when I stopped you attacking him.” He turned and led the way back into the other room to find Anders standing in front of his workbench, staring in bewilderment at the apparatus as he leaned over to take a sniff at the black distillate still dripping into the flask at the far end.

“If he raises his hand to me again, I damn well will hurt him,” Fenris muttered as he came out and sat where he could see Zevran work. 

Zevran hurried forward to pull Anders away from the flask. “Ah, no, I would not do that, _mi cuore_!” he exclaimed. “That is a rather potent extract of felandaris and death cap mushroom!”

Anders recoiled with an alarmed expression. “Zevran - why are you brewing poisons with my equipment?” he exclaimed.

“Because mine is all in the Rookery, and that is off-limits to me,” replied Zevran as he moved to check the flask.

Fenris watched them, careful not to flinch at the endearment between them as he waited for Zevran to be done. 

Anders moved away from the workbench and dropped into a nearby chair, then looked up at Fenris with a smile. “Hullo love,” he greeted him. “I have good news - we should be able to send the others back to their own world in a couple of days.”

“Can it be now?” the elf asked in annoyance, eager to get them all back to their world.

Anders looked crestfallen; he’d hoped the news would cheer the elf. “I’m afraid not - Ellowynne’s exhausted from dream walking to the Deep Fade,” he answered. “It would be dangerous for her to make the attempt now - she had to take more lyrium than I’m happy about, even with Varania’s help. They -” Anders swallowed and looked worried. “Varania would have to use blood magic if we made the attempt now.”

“I’m almost tempted to ask her to to do it, I’m that sick of them being here,” Fenris said as he glanced at Anders before looking at Zevran’s concoctions. “Felandaris is poisonous, why are you even working with it?” he asked warily.

“It is one of the tools of my trade,” shrugged Zevran as he carefully stoppered the flask of black liquid, winding three beaded cords of black silk around the neck of the bottle then applying wax to the cork to seal it. That done, he reached for the other flask - the one with the toxic sticky residue - and stirred the contents cautiously with a glass stirrer. Carefully, he decanted the contents into a glass jar that he also sealed with wax, pressing two beaded cords of crimson hemp into the warm wax before setting it aside and beginning to clear up.

“And Anders’ craft is healing, yet you used his equipment for poisons. I’d thought you’d put this behind you,” Fenris replied quietly as he watched the other elf work. 

“Not entirely,” replied Zevran. “I still had my little vials, no? But some of those little elixirs lose efficacy over time and so I must brew more. And soon we will go to Denerim, where we must find work - for what coin we have will not last much longer; and there is only one trade for which I have ever been trained. And for that, I must have my supplies. So, no, Fenris, I have not put this behind me.”

“Zevran, you... you’re not going to go back to being an assassin again, are you?” asked Anders quietly.

“There is nothing else I am trained for,” replied Zevran. “It is all I have known since I was a child - it is the only thing I have ever been trained for.”

“That will kill you. After all you did, pretending to die in the streets of Val Royeaux, and now you’d go back to it? There is so much more you can do Zevran,” Fenris said as he watched the elf, worried going back to that life would end him sooner than any of them would like.

“That was as the last Crow Master,” shrugged Zevran. “They think me dead; there can be no more than perhaps two or three Crows left now in all of Thedas, and likely by now they have joined one of the other Houses. Why should they in Antiva care what one lone freelance assassin in Denerim may be doing? It is only one more form of mercenary work, after all - and one for which I am more than well trained for; it is something I excel at.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Fenris said simply, his expression worried as he looked to the blond elf, then to Anders with fear.

“I think I am no more likely to die in this line of work than as any other mercenary - likely less,” shrugged Zevran as he glanced back at them both. “Why do you think I have been working so hard to regain my former fitness and to practice my skills? It was not merely to hone your son’s skills, Fenris. I need to be as at home upon the rooftops as any cat may be. And it is my skills that will serve me well and keep me alive.” He gave Fenris a slight smile. “And I have you to thank for making this even possible, Fenris; I could not even dare dream of returning to such a life before I had my health and my very well-being restored - I could not very well limp across the roofs of the city, after all!”

Fenris caught the unkind things he was thinking behind his teeth and simply nodded. “As you wish Zevran, I was hoping to leave my blade aside once we’d moved. I hope you do well, I know you will,” he said instead, looking down as he pondered his hands once more.

Anders worried at a loose thread on his sleeve without thinking, as he stared up at Zevran. “I wish you’d reconsider, love,” he said quietly. “There must be _something_ else you could do instead of killing people for pay!”

“Anders, how many people did Invictus kill for pay in Kirkwall? And Fenris? Even you, _mi cuore_ , your hands were covered in blood often enough, no? And not as a healer, either. And I am talking of the many years before the Chantry, not that slaughter. You have been a mercenary in your time, as much as Fenris and Invictus. I however will take lives only singly, and I shall weigh up each contract carefully, to be sure that each victim has truly earned that death - does that reassure you both?”

At mention of the blood Anders himself had shed, the mage went still, his face pale as he stared back at Zevran. He made to speak but no words escaped his lips. 

Fenris noticed the silence from Anders and looked up, a frown on his face. “That reminder of what Anders did was uncalled for Zevran. You know he’s a healer first and always,” the elf said as he rose and cautiously put an arm around the blond before glaring at the Antivan.

“I killed out of a need to earn coin, simply to survive, and I hated every minute of it. Anders was a warden, but he’s always been a healer, and it’s never sat well with him to take life, ever,” Fenris finished as he held the other man close to him. 

“In Denerim - as anywhere - we will need coin to survive, Fenris,” said Zevran calmly as he turned to face them both, folding his arms. “Or had you not noticed that the last of the coin we had from the Inquisition is almost gone? If we wish to eat, to keep a roof over our heads, then we must earn it. Anders can heal for pay, and make potions. But what of the rest of us, eh? Shall I brew my poisons and sell them? But then they might be used indiscriminately, and innocents would die as well as the deserving. But if I take up my work once more, then one contract could keep the roof over our heads for a month or keep us all fed during that time - and only one deserving person need die. I cannot fathom why you are so opposed to this, either of you! You _knew_ I was an assassin before ever you laid with me - either of you! You _knew_ what work it is I have done all my life! Why is it only now that it is an issue between us?”

“I know we’ll need coin, that’s not the issue. Maybe I don’t want to sit up at night wondering if you’ll come back Zevran. Maybe I think you’re better than being a killer for hire and you have far more talents than being an assassin. I know what you were, I was hoping you’d not go back to a job that could take you from us is why it’s a problem,” Fenris said, his eyes bright and his voice rough as he tried to stay calm. 

“And what would you have me do instead then?” challenged Zevran.

“You’ve got a great head for numbers, writing, managing things. You could keep any place running as a seneschal or captain of a company. You could teach brewing, you and Anders could help people learn how to cure someone when they’ve been poisoned. You have so many other talents. I’m sorry for not wanting you to go back to something that could take you away from people who love you before your time,” Fenris said quietly, his gaze dropping as he pulled away from Anders to leave rather than fight.

“And what work would _you_ seek, then, Fenris?” asked Zevran quietly.

“I don’t know Zevran, I’m not good at the things you are. I figured I would work it out once I got there and could see what’s needed versus what I can offer,” the elf replied quietly, wishing he’d kept quiet. 

“I can tell you what work there is - labourer’s work, or guarding warehouses - or mercenary work such as you all did back in Kirkwall,” replied Zevran. “All things that could get you hurt or killed just as easily as an assassin’s work, Fenris. I dare say that I would be safer than any mercenary, for no-one will see me coming and I will not be seen leaving. The only trace I will leave will be one less person in this world - and I shall be sure that I pick contracts only for those who will leave few to mourn them.”

“Fine, forget I brought it up,” Fenris replied as he glanced to Anders to see if he was alright before heading back to the room he shared with Invictus. 

Anders was staring fixedly at the ground, clearly unhappy with any of this as he remained silent. His hands had curled into fists in his lap,driving his nails hard into his palms as he forced himself to remain silent. He’d begged Zevran not to do this, to go back to his old life - and yet he couldn’t argue with him; Zevran’s points were all very valid and accurate ones. What had they been, back in Kirkwall, after all but hired killers? And it was true that they’d likely been in more danger in that life than Zevran ever had been in his. He bit his lip. He couldn’t help but wish there were some way to make Zevran reconsider - but from the moment he’d seen Zevran restored to full mobility and health, he’d known there was the chance he would return to that old life.

“I’m going back to bed, since Invictus pulled me out from a nap. I’ll see you for dinner,” Fenris said roughly, his voice sad as he left them.

Anders glanced up as Fenris left, his eyes following the tall elf before he looked to Zevran. “You’re right,” he finally answered, his voice low. “What were we, any of us, but hired killers? No matter how many lives I saved in Darktown, at the end of the day that’s all I was - a killer. A - a thug for hire, going wherever Vic asked me, killing whoever he’d been paid to deal with. I tried to count them up once, and - and I couldn’t. At least in the Wardens, it was just darkspawn we were killing! I didn’t mind killing the odd templar here and there - it meant one less of the bastards, after all, and usually they deserved it. But - you’re right. For all his title and estate and all the rest of it, Vic was only ever treated as a hired killer even by the other nobles - and we were only a little better than his hirelings. But that doesn’t mean we can’t want more for each other, Zevran! It - it doesn’t mean we have to go back to that life! Please - I’m only asking you to think again - to... to not rush into this, _please?_ ”

Zevran regarded him steadily. “Anders,” he said quietly. “Can you honestly imagine anyone would hire me - an elf, with no letters of recommendation to his name - as a seneschal? Why would anyone accept me as the captain of their company, unless I joined first as the lowliest grunt and worked my way up? Soldiers and guards are not given a commission merely for stepping in off the street and twirling a blade - and there, again, being an elf will also be against me. Trust me, _mi cuore_ , I do not make this choice lightly. I have considered this long and hard, and this is the only way a man such as I can earn honest pay.”

Anders bowed his head. “As you wish,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping in resignation. He uncurled his hands and stared at the bloody marks his nails had left in his palms.

“Ah, _mi cuore_ ,” sighed Zevran as he moved to crouch at Anders’ feet, reaching for the mage’s hands. “Look what you have done to your hands! Please... do not worry for Zevran; he knows what he is doing, yes? I will be safe. And you will have your healing - or we could open a little apothecary shop for you perhaps; would you like that, hmm?” 

Anders stared at the elf and let his chatter wash over him as the elf cared for his hands; he felt only a dull dread inside still, and a vague feeling of fear.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto and the others are finally sent home. Fenris and Zevran spend the night together as Fenris tries to rekindle what they have together.

Leto woke up curled around his Anders, glad the other mage was still with him. He was exhausted and yet hopeful they would actually get to go back in a couple of hours. He pressed a kiss to the other mage’s temple before gathering himself and getting cleaned up and what little they had packed away. He waited until he had a rucksack ready, and a bath for the other mage before waking him.

“Hey, figured you’d want a bath before we go back,” Leto said quietly. 

Anders stretched slowly with a soft groan before rolling slowly over towards Leto, opening his eyes to smile sleepily up at the elf. “Where are we going?” he slurred, not quite fully awake.

“Back to our world finally,” Leto said with a soft smile for the other man. “I’ll wake Dorian while you bathe.” 

Anders blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes, and his smile slipped. “Back to our Skyhold?” he asked quietly.

“Only until we can disband the Inquisition then I will go wherever you want us to love,” Leto said as he brushed hair out of Anders face. “I will protect you, and anyone who tries to touch you will meet a swift end.” 

“Will I have to be locked up again?” Anders asked quietly. “Until it’s... until it’s safe?”

“No, you can stay with me in my rooms. You won’t be locked up and if I’m supposed to be the Inquisitor, they damned well will accept my word on it,” Leto said before leaning in for a kiss and growling at the knock on the door. 

“Leto?” called Dorian through the door. “Is Anders awake yet?”

“He is now!” Anders called back. “Just give us a few minutes, alright?” He waited until they heard Dorian move away from the door again, then glanced back to Leto. “He’s nervous, I think,” he shrugged. He lifted his arms to drape them around Leto’s neck and leaned up to kiss him again. 

“Leto,” he said quietly, his expression serious again. “Once we get back there... do whatever you have to do. Don’t worry about me. I’ll go along with whatever needs to be done to keep us all safe. I trust you. The people at Skyhold saw me being dragged off with my wrists bound; Maker only knows what their reaction will be to seeing that Zevran hasn’t slit my throat after all. I don’t want my presence to jeopardise anyone’s safety. Do whatever you need to, alright?”

“What I need to do is to keep you safe, and not treat you like a prisoner. Let me take care of you ok?” Leto asked before leaning in for a kiss, eager to hold the other man for as long as he could before they braved returning to their world. “Will you let me be your shield?”

Anders gazed up into his eyes, then slowly nodded. “Alright. I suspect having me around is going to make your life rather difficult in many ways - I just hope I’m worth it.” He gave Leto a wry smile. “I’m sure I’ll just have to think up lots of ways to make it up to you.”

“Just letting me be with you is enough love. I’m grateful you remembered and that you let me remain in your life,” Leto replied quietly, wishing they could have more time before dealing with the world outside their door. He sat back slowly, a smile on his face as he watched Anders head for the bath. 

He could hear Dorian pacing restlessly in the next room, pausing occasionally before returning to pacing. The magister had been awake even before Leto, and was decidedly antsy if the pacing and restlessness were anything to go by.

Anders finally emerged from the bathing chamber. He was wearing a simple outfit that the other Anders had sent over the previous day with their Dorian to bring the news that they were finally being sent back to their own world. His own Dorian had been in a slightly odd mood ever since, Leto recalled; encountering his mirror face-to-face again had unsettled him.

Anders was tugging the tunic straight as he glanced up at Leto and smiled. “My parents used to wear clothes like this,” he remarked. “Anderfels garb. Haven’t worn anything like it myself since I was a child though. It was good of him to give me some of his clothes.”

“It was nice of him. I wish Fenris had returned my things, it’s hard enough to find things that fit me now,” Leto said as he brushed a hand down Anders’ chest fondly. “Come on, let’s get going before Dorian wears a hole in the floor.”

“Yes, he does seem rather restless,” nodded Anders. “But then it’s been - what, four days? Five? Since Fenris took him to see Zevran last? And he’s not come near us since then. After not seeing Zevran all this time - well, I imagine he’s pretty impatient.” He glanced around the room, then sighed. “Well, apart from my clothes, I’ve nothing really to bring. I don’t even own a staff.”

Leto kept quiet on Zevran but gave him a smile instead. “Come on, I still don’t quite know how we’re getting him back and then getting to Adamant. I just… I just want to get this over with. I hate being here,” the elf said before he grabbed their belongings, his staff and took Anders’ hand in his. 

Dorian stopped pacing as they entered, and gave a small sigh of thankfulness. “At last! I was beginning to wonder what you two could be up to in there! That Invictus fellow came by earlier to say that Fenris is going to meet us at Adamant with - well. We’re supposed to meet the rest of them in the Great Hall; apparently Invictus is going to be opening up a portal with Dorian to Adamant to take us all there, and it’s my one chance to learn this portal magic for myself. We mustn’t keep them waiting.” He had a bag with his own meagre belongings - all the things he’d brought with him from their own Skyhold - slung on his shoulder, his staff held in his hand.

“Never mind what we could have been up to, lead on then since you’re so antsy,” Leto said as he stared at the other man and waited for him to go. 

Dorian gave him one last look then turned and flung open the door, leading them out into the corridor and setting a swift pace as he headed towards the Great Hall.

They arrived to find the hall mostly empty, save for the group at one end. The other Anders was talking quietly to his daughter as Varania interjected occasionally, Anders and Ellowynne nodding before Ellowynne said something in reply. Dorian crossed over to murmur something and Varania shook her head. She and Anders exchanged a look and curiously, Anders tapped his left arm as he gave Varania a meaningful look. She nodded, and then Anders gave his daughter a brief kiss on the cheek before turning and spotting them.

Invictus and Zevran stood a little further away, both men standing stiffly - Leto wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be a coolness between the two men which was strange, given they were supposedly husbands and lovers. He had no time to ponder this however, as both Dorian and Invictus were now walking towards them.

“Ah, Leto,” greeted Dorian. “Just in time.” He nodded to Anders and then glanced at his mirror. “You both might like to come pay attention; Invictus and I are about to open the portal to Adamant. Fenris has... gone on ahead.” He gave them a wink. “Leto, if you stand with Invictus; Dorian, with me if you please? That way you can both follow and see just how we cast this. Invictus and I are casting this together as it reduces the strain on both of us - it would be possible for either of us to cast it alone, but it uses far less mana if we cast together.” 

“What do I need to do?” Leto asked quietly as he watched the two Dorians.

“Follow that … the Dorian you don’t know,” Invictus said as he settled next to the double of his husband. 

“What about me?” asked Anders, bewildered.

“Oh, Anders can’t cast portal magic; it’s something he just can’t master, so I imagine you’ll be the same,” shrugged Dorian as he called over to him. “Go stand next to Zevran where you’ll be out of the way.” Having dismissed Anders casually like that, Dorian turned to Leto’s Dorian. “Now, shall we?”

Looking a little disconcerted at being dismissed like that - and feeling more than a tiny bit belittled - Anders obediently went and stood next to Zevran, who patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

“Best keep out of their way, eh?” smiled the assassin. “And it is as well, for I have something for you.”

“Y-you do?” said Anders, warily. 

Zevran grinned at him. “Do not look so worried. Here... it is for your Zevran. He may find it useful - it is the antidote for a certain poison the Crows like to use on one of their own when he or she has tried to leave the fold. Where they have tried once, they may try again, yes?” He pressed a small vial into Anders’ hand.

“Th-thank you,” Anders managed.

“Think nothing of it,” shrugged Zevran. “There is enough in there for two doses. You may wish to keep a dose for yourself... just in case.”

Invictus frowned at the casual dismissal of the other Anders but drew his attention back to what was going on. “Ready when you are, Dorian.” 

Dorian nodded to him and lifted his hands.

In unison, Dorian and Invictus drew upon their magic, both men quietly murmuring to Leto and the other Dorian a quiet explanation of what they were doing, both intoning the verbal components of the portal spell aloud with a little more volume than they would have customarily used had it been just the two of them. Anders listened carefully, silently mouthing the words afterwards as he felt the magic being drawn, coalescing into orbs of light between the two mages’ hands; swiftly he realised that Dorian had been correct - this drew on far more Force magic than he’d ever been capable of channelling himself, and with a feeling of inadequacy and frustration he knew he would not be able to use this portal magic himself.

With a sharp snap and hum of power, the scent of petrichor filled the air as the portal opened between them; beyond the rippling edge of power they could see Adamant - and there, some little way off, stood Fenris next to a cloaked and hooded figure.

“Step smartly, gentlemen, ladies!” called Dorian.

Invictus nodded at them to hurry through while he and Dorian held the portal open until everyone was through until they were left, and he gave a nod to his friend, and in sync they stepped through, and let the portal close behind them. 

Fenris looked to the other Dorian and Anders, and scowled at his double. Of them all, he’d be happiest to get rid of Leto. “What do you need of me to help open the portal to their world?” 

Leto caught the other elf’s scowl and returned it, just as unhappy with being around him until they could go home. 

Leto’s Dorian was crossing swiftly to the cloaked and hooded figure, who was divesting himself of the excess of cloth. As their Zevran cast the cloak aside, Dorian drew the elf to him in a hug. Zevran patted him on the shoulder reassuringly as he glanced over to Leto and their Anders, seemingly none the worse for having lived in seclusion alone for several days.

“Dorian?” Ellowynne called to Fenris’ _amicus_ , who drew his attention away from the sight of his other self embracing the assassin to answer her summons. She and Varania began talking to him swiftly in low voices as Anders stood nearby, attentive yet silent, before Ellowynne, Varania and Dorian moved a little way away from them all as Anders walked over to join Fenris, beckoning everyone else closer.

“Varania and Dorian will be the ones opening the actual portal,” Anders explained as the others crowded around. “Ellowynne is reaching out with her mind; she’ll be going into a trance and guiding Varania - Dorian is there to help relieve the toll that opening the portal will place on them both. Varania may need to use blood magic to augment things - or to bring Ellowynne’s mind back,” he added. There was a nervous look in his eyes. “I pray that won’t be necessary.” He glanced to Leto and his companions. “There won’t be long to hang around once the portal opens; it will take a great deal of magic and effort for Dorian and Varania to hold it open even just a short while. Not much time for goodbyes, so I’ll wish you all the best of luck now.”

Behind him, they could see Varania helping Ellowynne to lie down, setting a small pillow beneath the young woman’s head as Ellowynne closed her eyes.

“We’ll be ready to go, if Dorian doesn’t drag us all through the moment the portal is open,” Leto said as he kept well away from Anders, his gaze on the other mage’s hands and noting where he was at all times.

“If it comes to blood magic, Varania can take mine. Being her brother, it may be more useful and anything I can do to get them on their way? I’ll happily do so,” Fenris offered.

“That’s not necessary,” replied Anders quietly.

Before he could say anything further, Dorian and Varania had already begun chanting quietly behind him, and power was already coalescing between their hands - but they could all feel how different the power was this time. This wasn’t the blending of Spirit and Force that Dorian and Invictus had used to open the portal here to Adamant; there was a dark swirl of Entropy to this one that hummed and vibrated within the arcs and swirls of Spirit and the vibrant sharp crack of Force magic, the three interacting and entwining to form a dark, rippling portal that yawned open slowly, the surface undulating into a deep void that was unlit by any star or constellation - just the eternal abyss of the Deep Fade.

They were all silent now, as Varania and Dorian manipulated the portal, the magic taking a visible toll on them both. Suddenly, the portal irised open and they were staring through it into another Adamant - but one with no skeleton of a long-dead dragon visible; not even rotting remnants.

“Hurry!” Anders urged them. “They won’t be able to hold it long!”

Leto glanced at their Dorian and Zevran before dashing through the portal, scared of what could happen when they came out the other side but happy to leave. Meanwhile Fenris nudged the other Dorian and Zevran towards the portal when the Antivan didn’t move quickly.

“Go, if you get left here we can’t do this again,” he said tersely.

Anders was already walking backwards towards the portal, staring around at them. “I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused!” he called. “Thank-” He caught his heel on a stone and stumbled over backwards through the portal with a yelp, Leto reaching forward to catch him even as Dorian and Zevran broke into a run to follow him. Dorian locked eyes with his mirror self briefly and then they were through.

Dorian and Varania let the portal go with loud, ragged gasps, the energies snapping out of existence in a second the moment they dropped it. Dorian dropped to his knees, gasping for breath as Varania staggered, then knelt down next to Ellowynne. Anders was already sprinting over to them, throwing himself down beside his daughter and joining Varania in trying to coax the young elven woman awake.

Fenris came over and sat next to Ellowynne, unsure how if he could help at all or if it was wanted. “May I help bring her around?” he asked quietly as he knelt there.

Invictus had gone over to Dorian to check on the magister, what healing he could do already pooling in his hands. “Let me help you.”

Dorian was still kneeling in the dust, one hand braced against the ground as he panted for breath. “Dumat... almost as bad as that bloody Clearing,” he gasped. “Should have taken more lyrium before we did this; it’s quite taken it out of me. We sent them back in time as well as to their own world - only by a few days, but _venhedis_ , even that was a drain.”

“Why did you do that? It was enough to get them back, for Andraste’s sake Dorian!” Vic exclaimed as he tried to heal the other mage, his brow furrowed as he worked. “They should have been glad we got them back at all, no need to make extra stress for yourself.”

“They’d been gone too long - their Zevran had told their Josephine they would be back within two weeks. They’ve not cast portal magic before, and their Dorian will need to take them somewhere they know very well - but not Skyhold itself; so they’ll need to travel on foot back from there. So Varania and I gave them a few extra days. That’s why we couldn’t do this sooner - Ellowynne had to find the way through the Deep Fade not just to the right Thedas, but the right point in time in that Thedas. That’s why we had to do this in Adamant - trying to send them to somewhere else in that Thedas on top would have been too much for all of us, but most of all her!” He leaned against Invictus, utterly spent. “I am going to sleep for a week when we return, I swear it. I’m afraid you’ll likely have to open the portal back alone, Invictus.”

“Fenris can take us back, I don’t know if I can manage it either,” Vic said as he helped Dorian to his feet and made their way over to where the others were gathered around Ellowynne. 

“Love, let’s go back to our rooms and take care of her there,” Vic asked as he felt Dorian tighten his grip around him. 

“I can take us back, if you’ll allow it I can carry Ellowynne,” Fenris offered. 

“No!” exclaimed Anders. “You don’t understand. Her mind is lost in the Deep Fade - and in the wrong time as well. If we take her away from here, she’ll never find her way back to her own body!”

“I see,” Fenris said as he sat back. “What can I do, if anything?” he asked quietly. 

“I don’t know!” said Anders, his eyes filled with worry as he stared down at his daughter and gently stroked her forehead. 

Zevran had lowered himself to kneel on Anders’ other side, his own eyes filled with uncomprehending worry. “But - she is just sleeping, no? She will wake soon?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” replied Varania gravely. “Her mind is lost. If she does not find her way back, her body may perish before she can awaken ever again. Yet we cannot recall her by any normal means.”

“What do you mean?” asked Anders, staring up at her.

“Dorian - come here quickly!” she ordered. “We must work a modified form of the spell and reach back three days to her sleeping mind!”

“I - I can’t, I’ve nothing left!” exclaimed Dorian in anguish. “It would kill me!”

“Varania...!” choked Anders.

She looked up at him. “Do you remember what we agreed?” she said softly. “That if need be, I could use blood magic?” She was drawing a knife from her belt.

Anders stared at her, then nodded. “Yes,” he answered softly. “And I said if need be, you could use mine.” He tugged back his left sleeve then offered her his wrist.

“No, I said mine could be used,” Fenris said as he tugged the other man’s sleeve down and looked to his sister. “Go ahead.”

“Fenris, you can’t be serious,” Vic said as he looked to the elf.

“I am, now be quiet Invictus,” the elf said before looking at his sibling. 

“It has to be _his_ ,” she replied tersely as she reached for Anders’ wrist. He surrendered it to her willingly, drawing back his sleeve again as she placed the edge of the blade against his wrist.

“It’s my blood in Wynne’s veins, Fen,” said Anders.

“And it is his blood that will help draw her back,” nodded Varania.

The only sound Anders made as the knife sliced into his flesh was a faint gasp; he closed his eyes as the blood welled up around the blade, wet and hot as it rolled over his pale skin. Not a single drop fell however as Varania began chanting softly; it rose in a crimson mist that swirled around them.

Fenris fell quiet as he backed away and watched his sibling work. Her eyes were closed as she chanted softly in Ancient Tevene.

The sound of the chanting, the scent of blood, hot and coppery in the air; even the dust beneath his knees and the heat shimmer of the air - it was all too familiar to Fenris, and the sight of Anders swaying, white-faced, as his blood fed the spell Varania wove to try and call his daughter home was one that Fenris had hoped never to see. It seemed a scene out of one of his worst nightmares - and yet, as he looked around at Dorian - half-fainting against Invictus, the other mage holding him up - and then at Invictus himself, then Zevran, he knew this was no nightmare but all too real. 

“Ellowynne!” Varania called out, and then louder, “Ellowynne! Return!” 

Fenris was quiet as he watched, and tried not to panic as he forced himself to remember he was not in the past, that he wasn’t in Minrathous and there was no demon coming forth. He slumped upon his knees and tried to keep calm.

Invictus watched both of them, and cringed at the feel of blood magic in the air, thinking of his mother as he sat there with Dorian almost about to faint in his arms.

“’nvictus?” slurred Dorian, barely aware of his surroundings but roused by the unmistakable feel of blood magic. “Something... something wrong....”

“Ellowynne, return!” commanded Varania as she gestured, the bloodmist thickening around them with each beat of Anders’ heart.

They waited anxiously, Anders’ eyes still closed as he fought to keep himself upright as his blood continued to feed the spell, his heart beating faster. he wondered if he were going to faint; there was a distant ringing in his ears and he felt dizzy.

The young elven woman’s eyes finally flickered, and she stirred slightly. “Father?” she murmured faintly, her eyes still closed. “Father, I had that dream again....”

Varania released Anders’ wrist and the magic simultaneously as she sat back, and the blood vaporised from the air with a faint hiss of fire magic. Anders slumped forward, bracing himself with his other hand before he could collapse atop his daughter.

“Fenris,” he managed faintly. “Vic. Get... get us home. Please.”

Invictus handed Dorian off to Fenris before rising to make a portal for them to be taken directly to the Great Hall, his gaze and manner quiet as he watched Fenris take Dorian, then as he returned for Ellowynne, while the Antivan finally moved to help Anders to his feet so they could pass through quickly, before he stepped through and let the portal close behind them. 

“Fen can you get them back to our room, and I’ll get Dorian to his room via portal,” Vic asked quietly, unnerved by the blood magic he’d seen cast in front of them.

“Of course,” the taller elf said as he reached back for Zevran, and made sure they were all touching before lighting his brands to take them back to their rooms in the College. 

Anders was still conscious, though dizzy and weak, when they arrived there; he didn’t argue with Zevran however when the Antivan guided him swiftly and firmly towards the bed. Zevran pushed him to lie down then caught hold of Anders’ left hand and inspected the sluggishly-weeping cut across the inside of his wrist.

“Can’t heal it with magic,” Anders murmured. “Can’t heal wounds used for blood magic.”

“Then I will dress it for you,” said Zevran as he pulled off his shirt swiftly and wrapped it around Anders’ wrist to stem the bleeding whilst he looked for a healing kit. He noted that Fenris had brought them back to the room the taller elf shared with Invictus, and Zevran turned to him.

“ _Carissimi_ , is there a healing kit in this room?” he asked.

Fenris went to their bathing chamber and fetched the healing kit for Zevran, passing it to him quietly. He wasn’t able to return the endearment, not yet. “I’ll stay out of the way unless you need anything else,” he replied. 

Zevran looked up at Fenris. “You... do not wish to dress his wound yourself?” he asked very softly.

“You just said _you’d_ dress his wound,” Fenris replied, his gaze blank as he stared at the shorter elf. “Unless something changed in a few moments.” 

Zevran’s brow creased slightly in an uncomprehending frown. “It has not - but I should have realised that perhaps you might wish to care for Anders yourself,” he replied, his voice kept quiet so as not to reach Anders’ ears. “I do this too often - I leap forward to care for Anders without giving you or Invictus a chance to do so. Do you... not wish to?”

“I figured you wanted to care for your _cuore_ yourself since you always go to him first,” Fenris said quietly before reaching his hand for the kit. “If he lets me, I will bind his wound, else you can take care of him as always.” 

Zevran handed him the kit then stepped aside.

Anders’ eyes were closed as Fenris sat on the edge of the bed and began to unwind the shirt from Anders’ arm; he opened them at Fenris’ touch, and blinked at the elf, then gave him a tired smile.

“Patching me up, Fen?” he said quietly. “A bit like old times....”

Fenris didn’t respond to that, he simply worked to patch up the other mage, frowning as he threaded a needle and held Anders steady as he started to stitch him up. “Hold still, this will sting,” he murmured as he worked. 

Anders breathed steadily through his nose, through the pain of the stitches and the deep, throbbing ache of the knife wound itself. From time to time he inhaled a little sharper as a particular stitch stung more than the others, but he made no other sound, merely watched Fenris as the elf worked. Not once did he glance down to watch Fenris’ work; he trusted the other man to do a good job as Fenris had so often before.

“Thank you, love,” he said softly as Fenris cut the thread.

“You’re welcome, Anders,” Fenris said as he bound the wrist with a soft white linen bandage before he rose to wash his hands and get rid of the bloodied tools. The elf turned to see Ellowynne where he’d sat her in a chair. “How do you feel Ellowynne?” 

Ellowynne smiled wanly; she’d been a bit disconcerted by Varania disappearing so swiftly, but the older elven woman had been clearly exhausted. “Like I’ve been travelling for days and not slept for a week,” she replied. “Which was pretty much how it was, in a way. It worked, though? They all went through safely?” 

“Yes, they’re gone now, thank Dumat,” Fenris replied as he took a seat on the bed and tried to relax as best he could. He was quiet until Invictus walked in, surprised to see them in their room he supposed.

“Dorian is resting, and if you like Ellowynne, I can help you get back to your rooms so you can do the same,” Vic offered. 

“Is Father alright?” she asked. “What happened to his wrist?”

“I... injured it whilst we were at Adamant,” lied Anders as he ran a hand over the bandage about his left wrist. “Silly of me. It’s nothing serious though. You should go rest, sweetheart; you’re exhausted. You need _real_ sleep.”

“Yes, Father,” she replied. With Vic’s help, she was able to get to her feet, and she leaned gratefully into his support as they headed for the door. “My rooms aren’t far, thankfully....”

Anders waited until they’d gone, then glanced to Fenris and Zevran. “I’d be gratefully if neither of you mentioned to her just what _really_ happened to my wrist,” he said uncomfortably. “I’d rather she didn’t know it was blood magic that brought her back - much less that it was my blood that was used. The less she knows of such things, the happier I’ll be.”

“It won’t be from me, I’ve had enough of blood magic to last me and that brought back enough bad memories to keep me quiet,” Fenris said as he laid back on the bed with a groan. 

“I shall say nothing,” agreed Zevran. “I have no wish to cause any upset to either you or her. And I do not think Invictus will mention it either; I think what we all heard and saw will have brought back far too many bad memories. The last time I saw blood magic cast that close that was not a Venatori, I think it was Invictus as he was possessed - taking your blood. I hardly think he will wish to speak of blood magic to Ellowynne, do you?”

“Maker, I’d forgotten how that would have brought back some pretty bad memories for all of you, wouldn’t it?” exclaimed Anders as he tried to sit up. “I’m sorry - I-”

Zevran leaned forward to push Anders back against the pillows. “Hush, my heart,” he said gently. “The circumstances this time were very different. But it is true that we all have bad memories of far too many times when we have witnessed blood magic, and I do not think any of us will sleep well tonight. It is what it is, however; all that matters is that the others have been sent home, and Wynne has been brought back safely to us.”

“I plan to drink myself to sleep to combat what I remembered. For now I just want to lie down and not think on what happened, and be glad we’re rid of Leto and the others,” Fenris said as he tugged his shirt and boots off before sprawling on the bed and curling up with a pillow. 

Zevran grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over to the side of the bed and sat down with a sigh. “I think I, too, am glad that they have returned to their own world,” he agreed. “Perhaps now they have gone, we will all feel ourselves more, and we can finally leave this place ourselves.”

“I don’t think I’ll need to drink to sleep,” murmured Anders as he closed his eyes. “Maker, I am so tired.”

By the time Invictus returned, it was to find Anders deep asleep, Fenris dozing next to him, and Zevran not far off himself in the chair beside the bed, the blazing hot sun of Adamant having taken its toll on him.

Vic got the bath he’d been hoping for earlier then curled up on the floor by the fireplace, a throw pillow under his head as he fell into an uneasy doze along with his husbands. 

Fenris woke up as the chill of early evening finally settled into the room, finding Anders fast asleep next to him and the room in darkness save for the faint glow from the windows as the sun set. As he sat up, he could hear Vic snoring faintly; he glanced around to see Zevran dozing in the chair. 

He left them to sleep as he gathered his things to take a bath and get something to eat. Fenris was still tired, but hunger drove him out of the comfort of bed, otherwise he could have rolled over and stayed there for longer. The elven mage came out and gently put Zevran in his place in the bed next to Anders before slipping out of the room for a while. 

By the time he returned, Invictus had awakened enough to crawl into bed, and fall right back asleep on the other side of Zevran and Anders. Fenris let them be, stretching out on the rug before staring at the fire and thinking quietly while they got some much needed rest. 

Zevran stirred at some point later in the evening then sat up groggily with a low groan. He rose from the bed then stumbled slightly, staring around himself in bewilderment as he rubbed his head. 

“Careful, they are still asleep,” Fenris said from where he was laying on his back, looking at Zevran in the darkened room. 

Zevran glanced over at the sound of his voice, still looking bewildered. He glanced back at the bed, then at Invictus, then back to Fenris before stumbling towards the other elf, still clutching his head.

“My head is splitting,” he said in a low voice. “Why are you over here on the floor?” He sat down next to Fenris.

“I woke up and all of us don’t fit in the bed. I wanted to think and it was finally quiet and peaceful,” Fenris said as he let Zevran land heavily against him as he lifted a hand to try and help. “I’m not much of a healer, but I can try to help,” he offered.

“Too much hot sun and not enough water,” grumbled Zevran. “You would think I would know better, eh?” He stared at the floor and frowned. “It was you who put me in the bed?”

“Yes, unless that was a problem?” Fenris said as he dropped his hand and sighed. 

“No, I... I am half asleep and confused, is all,” said Zevran. He glanced at Fenris’ hand. “And yes... I would very much appreciate it if you could take away this headache so perhaps I can think a little more clearly?”

Fenris reached over and placed his hand over Zevran’s brow and concentrated as he focused on clearing the pain he could feel. Once he felt the other elf relax under his touch, he dropped his hand and rolled to stare up at the ceiling. “I hope that helped.”

“Thank you... yes, that does, very much,” agreed Zevran with a sigh. “I was foolish not to drink water the moment we returned - we were all a little distracted, eh?”

“Yeah, but you all slept which was needed it seems. If you’re tired you should get more sleep, it’s already late enough we can sleep till morning and I guess make plans tomorrow,” Fenris said as he laid there, unsure what Zevran wanted of him.

“Anders lost blood and Invictus helped open the portal that took us to Adamant - and then to come back here again,” said Zevran quietly. “But I am not so sleepy now, and I think I need food. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I took a bath and left you all to sleep since you seemed to need it,” Fenris replied quietly, curious if Zevran would return to the room he’d claimed with Anders rather than the bed with the others once he had eaten. 

“Very well; I shall go see if there is any food still to be had in the dining hall,” replied Zevran. “I shall be back in a little while.” He rose and left silently.

It was perhaps an hour later when he returned, letting himself back into the room silently. He was carrying something under his arm, and as the Antivan settled himself cross-legged upon the rug next to Fenris, he realised that Zevran had liberated a couple of bottles of wine from somewhere. Zevran set the bottles down beside them and gave Fenris a small, almost shy smile.

Fenris arched an eyebrow, surprised at Zevran’s smile. “Did you find something to eat?” he asked quietly. 

“It is late, and the dining hall was almost empty. But there was food enough left over that I was able to eat my fill. I thought to return with wine and there, I was fortunate also.” He gestured at the bottles. 

“I see,” Fenris said as he sat there, curious despite himself. “You were dehydrated earlier, are you sure wine is a good idea?” 

Zevran chuckled quietly. “You can be sure that the first thing I did upon arriving in the dining hall was to drink plenty of water, Fenris. And I shall drink more before I lay down to sleep again. But a little wine now will not hurt.”

“Very well, I hope you enjoy it,” Fenris said quietly, not expecting Zevran to share with him after the last couple of days or their last attempt at conversation. 

Zevran blinked at him. “You do not wish to drink wine?” he asked, hesitantly.

Fenris shrugged as he sat there. “Considering our last row and the cool way you responded to me after telling us that you had to be an assassin again, I’m not sure if you meant to share or save some for tomorrow. If I am wrong, I apologize.”

Zevran was frowning slightly. “You had pushed me away, Fenris,” he pointed out. “And even when I was worried for you, after Invictus shouted at you - it was you who was cool towards me. It has felt as though you have been pushing me away, and then just before the portal was opened and they were sent back - it was an unsettling moment. But I was not ever cool towards you, Fenris! I have tried over and over to reach out to you, and you have been prickly in return. I am _still_ trying! Why would I bring back wine if not to share with you?”

“I said I apologize for being wrong,” Fenris said in a low voice, not wishing to wake the others. “I was worried about you going back to a life that could get you killed or hurt and you didn’t seem to care for my worry or that of Anders. Despite what you might think, my love for you never lessened and I don’t want you to go back to that life because you can be something else, be better Zevran. Forgive me for not wanting to face losing you, again, to the life of an assassin,” the elf finished as he stared at Zevran as he tried to stay calm and not let ice or fire come to him. 

Zevran stared down at the floor between then, still with that perplexed frown. “In the space of one year, there is not enough time for me to establish myself in a way that would allow me to take some other, safer position, Fenris,” he said quietly. “By becoming an assassin once more - yes, it is dangerous, but far less so than were I to do so in Antiva or Nevarra. Here in Ferelden, particularly around Denerim, I will have few rivals and even fewer who would be close enough to me in skill to be deemed peers and thus a threat to me. And I shall face far less danger than you and Invictus would if you were to take up mercenary or guard work. Does it not make more sense for me to take a calculated risk for which I will be paid handsomely, instead of the three of us taking poorly-paid work as guards or sellswords? And you hate the smell of fish - believe me, much of such work would entail guarding cargo upon the docks, Fenris.” He lifted his gaze to meet the other elf’s stare.

“It is one year, Fenris - a year in which we may not even spend that whole time in Denerim. A year, and then I swear I shall hang up my blades and never brew poison again.” 

“Don’t make a promise you don’t know you can keep. Do what you have to then, but none of us have to like it,” Fenris said tiredly. “I would adapt, I did it in Minrathous and Kirkwall, and I would do that to keep you from that life but it doesn’t matter. Just don’t get killed going back to it,” Fenris said tiredly. 

“Fenris, I _do_ care that you and Anders are so unhappy about this. And I am sorry for it. But I would be sorrier still if something were to happen to you, Invictus or both - and know that I could have prevented it by taking one or two contracts here or there.” Zevran regarded Fenris sadly. “I wish you could trust me when I say that I will be the safest man in all of Denerim, and the only ones who should have fear are those whose names are on the contracts I accept. In all my days as a Crow in Antiva, no other assassin could touch me. I took contracts that should have meant my death after Rinna died, and instead I was only accused of seeking glory for myself, for no-one could touch me. Even Solona could not kill me; even as the rest of the men I had hired to assist me lay dead around me, I was wounded but alive - against two Grey Wardens. In Val Royeaux I was unwary once - and even there, they failed to kill me. It suited my purposes to be thought dead. In Denerim I shall be upon my guard and I swear I shall not let my guard fall. I shall be twice as cautious as ever I have been, because I will wish to return to you, and Anders, and Invictus at the end of each job alive. And to walk in upon my own two feet, not limp in wounded.”

“Fine, do what you must Zevran. I will accept it but I do not like it,” Fenris replied quietly, his gaze dropping to the wine next to the other elf. “Are you going to open those?” he asked. 

Zevran plucked a knife from his boot and set to work to trim away the wax from the neck of each bottle, then extracted the corks before offering one to Fenris.

Fenris took the bottle, drinking slowly as he sat with the other elf and stared at the dim flames that flickered and licked across the logs in the grate of the fireplace. He finally turned to face Zevran and looked nervous. “I….” He gathered up his courage after another sip, to continue. “I would like… I wish for...a sign from you Zevran, a kiss or something, please?” he finished quietly.

Zevran drew his gaze away from the fire to look at Fenris, startlement giving way to dawning hope. “You... you wish that from me?” he asked as he leaned closer, setting his own bottle aside. “Fenris....”

He gazed up into Fenris’ eyes as he trailed his fingers gently down the white-haired elf’s cheek then leaned in closer, his breath wine-sweet. He closed his eyes and kissed Fenris. As Fenris curled his fingers into the front of Zevran's shirt, distantly noting it was the one stained with Anders’ blood, he pulled the smaller elf closer and Zevran willingly pressed himself against Fenris, lifting his hands to Fenris’ shoulders as they deepened the kiss.

As they parted for breath, Zevran reluctantly opened his eyes, uncertain of what more Fenris would want of him. 

“Thank you, I was afraid to ask for that,” Fenris whispered, wishing for far more than a kiss but still fearful of rejection. It had been too long since they’d truly been together, not including that one, overly cautious time since Fenris’ return.

Zevran slipped his hands from Fenris’ shoulders and slid them around Fenris’ back as he lowered his head to rest it upon the taller elf’s left shoulder. “I am still yours, _carissimi_ ,” he murmured. “You only ever had to ask. Whatever you wish of me - you only need ask. I will not deny you, Fenris.”

“I’m sorry I’m so weak since coming back, so afraid,” Fenris whispered as he tried to keep more tears from falling.

“It has not been an easy time between us, beloved,” Zevran answered. “But whatever you wish of me now, ask.”

“Hold me, be with me...like we used to? I’m still feeling incredibly fragile, and afraid that whatever I do will break this tentative peace,” Fenris replied as he stared into Zevran’s eyes, his own a little bright and his smile shy. 

Zevran’s own gaze held an air of vulnerability about it, as if he, too were afraid that this delicate reaching out between them would go awry. “Anything you wish, _carissimi_ ,” he nodded.

“Careful, what I wish and what I can have are likely two different things right now,” Fenris said as he leaned in for another kiss, hopeful as he pulled Zevran into his lap and held on until he was nudged back so they could breathe.

Zevran gasped for breath as he stared into Fenris’ eyes - almost as if he were afraid Fenris would vanish if he looked away. “Ask it anyway?” he replied. “Fenris... how far do you wish this to go? I will not expect you to do anything you feel unready for.”

“I wish it to go as far as you ...as far as you reclaiming me, doing what you want. But after I tried to play, I am afraid of being rejected again,” Fenris admitted before he looked down.

“As far as that?” 

“I’m not...I’m not being clear. I want to have sex with you, but not anything rough,” Fenris gave him a tremulous smile as he stared at the shorter elf. “I’ve been thinking, maybe clearly for the first time as we’ve been speaking. If you don’t want to, I understand. I figured I’d try some of that courage you told me to have.” The elf kept his gaze on the Antivan, hopeful his change in mood hadn’t made things difficult for them to move forward.

Zevran had an air of vague bewilderment about him as he returned Fenris’ gaze. “After... the way you were - when you were affectionate towards Anders - I thought, I... this morning, I... I thought you did not want that from me, that... that you were not ready for that?” He blinked, then gave Fenris a bemused smile. “I had thought even a kiss was more than I could hope for, and now you have quite surprised me, Fenris.”

“I...I missed you. If you don’t wish to, I can go lie down by myself, I’m sorry if I pushed for too much again,” Fenris said quietly, his voice and gaze dropping as he waited for the other elf to pull away.

Zevran remained where he was however. He lifted a hand to caress Fenris’ cheek, then tilted Fenris’ face up with two fingers beneath the taller elf’s chin, so that Fenris was obliged to look into his eyes once more. The Antivan was smiling gently.

“Fenris, I told you. I will deny you nothing. I am only surprised, is all. I am yours - _all_ of me is yours.”

“Forgive me, like I said I am still fearful of breaking this fragile peace with my words as I am wont to do,” he said to Zevran before leaning in for a kiss, a drawn-out show of how much he still loved Zevran, even cradling the other elf’s face in between his hands as he kissed him.

From the bed came Anders’ voice, drowsy and heavy with sleep as he groaned quietly then murmured, “Are you finally going to fuck then? That would be nice....”

Fenris’ head whipped aside to stare at the bed, a blush coming over him as he heard Anders. “That wasn’t ca--” Whatever he was going to say was silenced by another kiss, and a low laugh from Zevran. 

“I do not think Anders is fully awake,” smiled Zevran as they parted for breath again. “He would not be quite so undiplomatic as that if he were fully in possession of his wits, hmm?”

“I hope not,” Fenris said before he rose with Zevran still in his arms. “May I take you to bed?” he asked softly.

“Yes, _carissimi_ ,” breathed Zevran. “Yes, you certainly may.”

Anders’ eyes were half open and glazed as he turned his head to watch. He lay otherwise still, face almost as pale as the pillows. He managed a sleepy smile however.

“We’ll have to go to the other room, I don’t think they will want us waking them by shagging in the same bed,” Fenris said as he headed for the door that joined their rooms, quiet as he let the door close, and as he sat on the bed with Zevran. 

“What do you wish first? I want to be sure this is good for you, since I’ve been so skittish and holding you away from me,” Fenris asked.

“ _Carissimi_ , whatever you wish to do, I wish to do also,” replied Zevran. “But perhaps... undress me? It has been far too long since last I felt your hands on me and felt you truly desired me....”

“That’s too much power to give me,” Fenris said as he stripped Zevran, slowly, kissing his skin with each bit revealed. He tried not to think of how Leto had also touched him, had him as well. He banished that thought as soon as it had come so he wouldn’t get bogged down in thinking about his double. He even dared a bite to Zevran’s shoulder as he pushed his shirt down and off him. 

Zevran cried out softly as he felt the sharp nip of Fenris’ teeth in his flesh, then groaned. “Ah, Fenris... yes, claim me, mark me, I am yours!” he begged, tilting his head back to bare his throat for Fenris’ teeth.

“Easy, easy…” Fenris murmured before biting down on the other elf’s neck hard enough to mark but not enough to break skin. He reached down to get Zevran’s pants open so he could slide them down and reacquaint himself with his husband’s cock, which he’d missed filling his mouth and his ass.

Zevran moaned as Fenris’ teeth sank into his skin and then felt the other elf’s warm hand cupping his groin; he arched into the touch, his eyes closed as he moaned Fenris’ name softly. He lay back upon the bed, opening his eyes to gaze up at the other elf, lifting his hips so he could slide off his pants until he lay naked beneath Fenris.

“I am yours, _carissimi_ ,” he uttered trustingly. “Do with me as you will.”

Fenris stared at him for a moment as he let those words sink in, before dropping to his knees to take Zevran in his mouth, his eyes closing as he enjoyed the feel of the other elf filling his mouth, and the tentative touch to his head as he bobbed slow and easy, taking his time. He had the satisfaction of hearing Zevran gasp, and then the Antivan shivered slightly as he groaned in appreciation. He slid his fingers into Fenris’ hair; it was too short to tug but the feel of it against his palm helped ground Zevran a little as he felt his arousal growing, Fenris’ mouth hot and wet about his cock as the white-haired elf moved almost maddeningly slowly. Without thinking, Zevran spread his legs a little wider as he stroked his hand through Fenris’ hair and gazed at the ceiling, marvelling that after all they had gone through in the past two weeks, they had found themselves here now, with Zevran lying there and at the mercy of Fenris’ whims - and loving every moment of it.

Fenris sped his movements, moaning low in his throat with each dip of his head that let Zevran’s cock hit the back of his throat. He raised a hand and tried to urge the other elf to guide him, though he was sucking as if he was trying to earn a prize.

Zevran felt his arousal cresting higher as Fenris moved faster, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out and risking disturbing Invictus and Anders. “F-Fenris....” he managed, his voice almost a whimper as the other elf brought him closer and closer to climax. “Fenris, I’m - I’m close, I - I can’t....”

The Tevinter elf went faster, urging Zevran to come as he planned to do more than just give him a blowjob. He would have smiled as he felt the way the other elf stiffened under him, the hard grip on his head as he swallowed. 

Zevran lifted his other hand to his mouth and bit hard on it as he came, stifling his cry and merely grunting as his body twitched and he filled Fenris’ mouth and throat. He shuddered then let his hand fall, panting as his heart raced, his eyes closed as he managed a low groan.

Fenris pulled back with a lewd, wet noise as he swiped a thumb over his mouth to catch what had spilled out. “Better?” he asked mischievously before crawling in bed next to the Antivan to cuddle next to him. 

Zevran nodded, still panting. “Yes,” he managed finally. “Yes, that was good....” His eyes were still closed; he lifted his hand to rest it on his chest, and Fenris could see the bite marks clearly where Zevran had held back his cry.

Fenris sat up and looked at Zevran, glad for the chance to be with him again. He frowned at the bite marks, and took the other elf’s hand to heal him. “Don’t hold back, I can cast Silence if you wish,” he said as he healed the damage he could sense.

Zevran opened his eyes and gazed up at Fenris. “Perhaps that would be for the best,” he answered, no longer quite so breathless. “You... are still dressed,” he added, arching his eyebrows. “And here am I, quite naked.”

“So I am, do you wish that to change?” Fenris asked as he sat up and silenced the room with a couple waves of his hand, and a slight grimace. “Casting is still...difficult for me at times,” he murmured. 

Zevran studied his healed hand, then looked back up at Fenris. “I appreciate it every time you do it for me,” he replied. “First my leg and other scars... now my hand, and even this Silence - now, no matter what we do in here, Anders and Invictus will not be troubled. Thank you, _carissimi_.” His smile was sincere. “But you are wearing too many clothes and I think you should not be, hmm?” His smile turned mischievous.

“You can change that I think,” Fenris said as he watched the other elf, curious as to what he was going to do next. “I think I’ll be more comfortable once you do something about it,” he added with a nod at the obvious tenting of his sleep pants.

Zevran sat up, then moved to settle himself on his hands and knees between Fenris’ thighs. He gave Fenris a cheeky grin then lowered his head to mouth the other elf’s obvious arousal through the thin fabric. He heard Fenris groan and he chuckled before he leaned forward just enough to take the top of the pants between his teeth. Then, his golden gaze fixed on Fenris’ face, he slowly tugged the pants down until Fenris’ cock was freed. 

He let go of the pants only to lean forward and run his tongue slowly up the length of Fenris’ cock from root to tip before he began to swallow Fenris down, taking down almost half his length in one go.

Fenris was not expecting him to take that much at once, and a startled “HNgghnnthhh!” was the reaction Zevran got out of him before he caught himself. He watched the other elf work his cock slow and easy into his mouth, his breath turning to shallow pants as Zevran got closer to taking him in fully. 

The third time Zevran swallowed him down, Fenris felt the head of his cock brush the back of Zevran’s throat, and the Antivan held still for a moment, overcoming his gag reflex by sheer effort of will as he relaxed his jaw and exhaled slowly. He lifted himself up a little as he drew away once more, working Fenris’ cock with his tongue as he pulled back towards the head before taking a deep breath and sinking down once more, his lips stretched around Fenris’ girth. He felt Fenris’ cock slide those last couple of inches into his throat, choking him; he closed his eyes and swallowed around it, unable to breathe.

“Breathe Zev, breathe dammit. I don’t want this to be a very short return to fun for us,” Fenris said as he put his head on the other elf’s forehead, ready to nudge him back if he didn’t seem to be breathing in a moment.

Zevran drew back again, just far enough to allow himself to draw another breath, and opened his eyes to smirk up at Fenris around the larger elf’s cock before he swallowed him down again.

“Zevran...Zev… fuck,” Fenris moaned with each slow drag on his cock, his eyes closing as he tried to keep from coming so quickly, since it had been so long for them. 

Zeran reached for Fenris’ hand as he moved a little faster, guiding Fenris’ fingers to his long blond hair before taking the elf in to the hilt once more and swallowing. He could feel the other elf’s cock growing harder as he moved faster, and he knew that Fenris could not be far off his own climax.

“I’m gonna come… please Zev… please,” Fenris begged as he tugged the long blond strands in time to Zevran sucking him. “Dumat… fuck, too good,” he moaned as he tried to hold off but couldn’t. 

Zevran’s only warning was Fenris’ fingers suddenly tightening painfully hard in his hair, and then the other elf arched his back as he came down Zevran’s throat and the Antivan had to swallow hastily or else risk choking on Fenris’ spend. He couldn’t seem to draw his breath, Fenris’ cock thrust down into his throat as Zevran swallowed and then swallowed again until finally Fenris relaxed back onto the bed with a groan and released his hold on Zevran’s hair.

The Antivan lifted himself up, Fenris’ spend dripping from his chin as Zevran panted then swallowed again. He managed to give Fenris a cheeky grin, looking thoroughly debauched with his hair mussed up and his face flushed.

Fenris pulled him down and licked his spend off Zevran’s lips and cheek before kissing him slow and easy. He pulled the slighter elf down to him without breaking the kiss, a slight moan escaping him as they pulled apart for breath.

Zevran opened his eyes to stare at Fenris, still panting slightly. “What more would you have of me, _carissimi_?” he murmured. 

“I’d like to take you, it's been too long since I’ve ...had you under me, or riding me,” Fenris said quietly. 

Zevran’s eyes widened slightly, and then he nodded. “How would you like to take me, _carissimi_?” he murmured.

“May I have you on your back?” Fenris asked as he leaned in to nip at Zevran’s neck and shoulders, and realized his fangs had come down during his climax. “I should warn you of something first.”

Zevran groaned at the sharp graze of Fenris’ fangs. “You may have me however you wish, _carissimi_ ,” he replied as he allowed Fenris to roll them over so the larger elf now leaned over him. “What is it?”

“I discovered that I ...I… uh can sometimes ...Mythal, this is embarrassing,” Fenris said as he looked away to tell Zevran about his new-to-him ability to knot like a dog, or dragon in his case.

He glanced back to see Zevran trying to digest this piece of information. From the way the Antivan’s eyes flicked downwards briefly and then his face grew thoughtful, Fenris could tell that Zevran was mentally considering Fenris’ already-considerable girth and trying to work out how much larger he could possibly get; and then Zevran’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. 

“I... see,” said Zevran slowly. “May I ask how you discovered this - or would you rather not tell me?”

“Only if you will not be angry at me,” Fenris said sheepishly, almost trying to cover up out of worry for explaining and the other elf’s reaction.

“I know it must have been in that other Thedas, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran gently. “I will not be angry. I know you slept with the others there - that Dorian and the other me. I only ask so that I may understand what will happen.”

“Dorian panicked, as did I since I had no idea this was possible. We...fell asleep waiting for me to ...to go down enough to slip out of him. The other Anders...he loved it and _wanted_ me to knot him. If anything, if we are in a position where we can lay on our sides, should it happen, then at least you can be comfortable until I...I’m softened enough to come out,” Fenris said with a blush. 

Zevran pondered it a little while, then slowly nodded. “Very well,” he said slowly. “Can you feel when you are knotting? Will you know yourself? I am worried that if you knot inside me and move incautiously... well, I am not a large man, and Dorian is larger than I. I will not panic but I may be in some discomfort.” 

“I dare say you’d feel it before I would realize it since I’d be in you,” Fenris said slowly, his fingers slowly trailing down Zevran’s body as he pondered the elf. “If you’d rather not, I understand.” 

“No, I wish to do this - I want you to make love to me, Fenris. I am only... a little nervous about this knotting thing. If I feel any pain or discomfort, I will tell you immediately - only, if I beg you to stop or move slower, then be gentle with me and understand, _carissimi_? I would not wish to be hurt, and I know you do not wish to hurt me.” He gave Fenris a troubled smile. “I am not my mirror self, and I do not welcome pain in that way.”

“Your mirror self did not allow me to touch him much after he took up with his Dorian anyway,” Fenris said bitterly before catching himself. “I won’t hurt you, and the moment you say stop, I will still,” the elf said before leaning in for a quick kiss. “Where do you keep your oil?”

“The bedside table on the left side of the bed,” answered Zevran, and then he gave Fenris a hesitant smile. “Will... will you prepare me, _carissimi_?” he asked softly as he rolled over onto his stomach.

“Of course,” Fenris replied as he got the oil and after slicking his fingers and the elf’s hole, slid a thick, middle finger into Zevran, crooking it just a bit as he pulled out, his attention fully on opening the blond enough to take him again.

Zevran closed his eyes; as Fenris’ finger lightly brushed his sensitive spot he shuddered and bit his lip with a gasp. As Fenris slid a second finger into him, he pushed back into the touch so that Fenris’ fingers would thrust deeper inside. “More?” he begged.

“Greedy,” Fenris chuckled as he added a third finger, a bit more oil as he slid them in deep as he could, and slowly pulled back as he crooked his fingers so he hit that sensitive spot in his husband, pleased at the gasp and cry he got for his efforts. Zevran shuddered, one hand clawing at the mattress as he felt a surge of arousal. 

“C-c- _carissimi_....” He could barely get the endearment out. “Please... please!”

“Please what?” Fenris asked in a reasonable tone, almost too calm as he watched Zevran writhe from his touch.

Zevran turned his face into the pillow and bit down as he felt Fenris’ fingers thrust and then twist inside him maddeningly. He panted as he forced the growing feeling in his groin to recede by sheer will, enough to clear the growing haze from his mind. He lifted his head. “I - I am ready, _carissimi_. Please. I need to feel you inside me!”

“I missed you begging me,” Fenris said as he drew his fingers free and got more oil since it had been a while since he’d been with Zevran. Once he’d made sure they both were slicked up, he pushed slow and easy, making sure to listen for any sound of pain or discomfort from the slighter elf. Zevran breathed slow and steady as he felt himself steadily breached by Fenris, stretched almost painfully as the other elf pushed in until Fenris was fully sheathed inside him and Zevran felt full, almost unbearably so. It had been over a month since he had been taken by Leto, and he had almost forgotten how it felt. Anders was a large man, but Fenris was larger still.

“A moment, beloved,” Zevran murmured; he breathed deeply, willing himself to relax as he adjusted to the feeling. He felt blindly for Fenris’ hand, his eyes closed, needing that touch of reassurance suddenly.

Fenris stilled and shifted so he wasn’t pushing Zevran so far into the bed, nor resting some of his weight against the other elf. “Do you need to stop?” he asked as he squeezed Zevran’s hand gently. “It’s alright if you do...it _has_ been some time.”

“I just need a moment....” Zevran drew another breath, trying to centre himself. “You fill me so much more than Anders, and I... I just need a moment to breathe.” He opened his eyes and blinked.

Fenris pressed a kiss to the blond’s neck with a worried sigh. “What will help?” he asked.

“I am fine, I just needed to relax a little more,” replied Zevran, turning his head more to the side so he could glance back at Fenris over his shoulder and give him a reassuring smile. He pressed a kiss to their joined hands. “Please... you may move, now,” he murmured.

“Alright, tell me if I need to stop, or slow down,” Fenris said as he slowly pulled them both to their knees, and pressed another kiss to Zevran’s neck before moving again, sure to be slow and steady until he was sure the other elf was ready for him to go at their usual pace.

Zevran groaned quietly as Fenris began to move inside him, the feeling once more almost overwhelming and yet so good. “Yessss....” he breathed, unaware he’d said anything as he let himself relax and feel. Fenris could feel the difference in the Antivan as Zevran let the tension go, becoming responsive yet pliant beneath him. “Fenris....”

“That’s my name,” the elf moaned in his ear before nipping at the tip of his husband’s ears with the edge of his fangs, and purring as he kept moving faster, a low whine in his throat building with how he was getting close to his second orgasm. Zevran was writhing beneath him, the Antivan’s breaths coming faster as Fenris sped up. The blond elf was held in place on his stomach by Fenris’ weight pressed against his back, but Fenris could feel Zevran trying to push back into each thrust in between rutting against the sheet beneath him, the Antivan coming close to a second orgasm himself.

“F-Fenris... s-so close....” Zevran bit his lip as he felt the urge coiling deep and hot in his groin, craving release. “F-faster... more!” He clawed his free hand into the pillow, feeling himself skirting close to his second release but not quite there yet, not quite enough.

“Easy, I don’t want to hurt you,” Fenris breathed as he snapped his hips faster, a low growl escaping him as he felt how Zevran tightened against him with each thrust. “I...love you,” he panted as he fought his own climax so Zevran could find his pleasure first.

Zevran’s eyes were closed as he felt Fenris growing somehow even larger inside; he was being stretched further, each thrust starting to burn and yet his climax was pressing insistently for release. As Fenris’ words sank in, his eyes flew open and suddenly he crested over the edge; he shuddered as his orgasm stole his breath with a loud cry, his spend suddenly wet and hot against the sheet below him, trapped against his body as Fenris pounded him into the mattress. For what seemed several heartbeats he was aware of nothing but that overwhelming feeling of release, his vision whiting out until he came back to himself, feeling ennervated and drained, to the sensation of Fenris thrusting hard and deep as the other elf now chased his own climax eagerly.

The feelings deep inside now were almost too painful; he felt raw, stretched, as though on the verge of tearing and Fenris felt almost impossibly large inside him; he was capable of little more than a faint gasped whine.

Fenris was almost too far gone in his own attempt to come again but he noticed that Zevran was no longer moaning or even saying his name as he laid there, and it made him slow his thrusts and stop what he was doing. “Zev?” he called quietly.

Zevran was too silent for too long, save for the faint breathed whine that escaped him with each panted breath, until finally he managed to slur faintly, “Too... too much....”

“Dammit, I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” Fenris said as he gently held Zevran so the could roll them to the side and pulled a sheet over both of them. He held the other elf close, whispering apologies as he tried not to panic himself.

Zevran felt himself being tugged over onto his side and then the press of Fenris’ arms around him, reassuring and safe in his overloaded state. He was aware of the sensation of tightness deep inside himself - of being filled more than he had ever felt in his life before - even more than on those few occasions in which he had been taken by two men at once. But Fenris’ arms around him helped centre him, grounding him slowly as he blinked dazedly.

“Fenris?” he managed after a little while. “Fenris, did you come?”

“No, just… relax. You weren’t ...here. I’ll be ok, just please tell me if I need to heal you or drop the Silence and call for help,” Fenris said roughly. 

“It was... a little overwhelming,” Zevran replied quietly. “I feel... so full. Stretched....Fenris, this... this is what you were trying to warn me of, no?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen! I can’t seem to control when it happens, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Fenris said as he kept still, fearful that he’d do more than wear Zevran out if he even shifted to get them comfortable.

“No, no it... is fine, is... is fine,” said Zevran, distracted by the sensations in his body. “This... I have never felt this before, is... is different....” His Antivan accent had perceptibly thickened, his words slurring slightly in his distraction. 

“You don’t sound fine. I ruined this, I’m sorry,” Fenris said quietly. 

“No, is not ruined, is only -” Zevran ground back against Fenris experimentally, and then shuddered, suddenly unable to breath for a moment, his vision whiting out as the incautious movement caused pressure against his sweet spot and a wave of hot pleasure rolled through him. He was unaware of the hoarse cry that erupted from his lips as he came for the third time that night.

“Zevran? Zev?” Fenris asked as he felt his hand get wet and sticky from the other elf’s come. He grumbled a bit at how the blond had managed three orgasms and he’d not been able to finish the second time. 

It took longer for Zevran to be capable of responding this time; he was riding a wave of endorphins, capable of only a faint high whimper before he could dredge up the power of speech. “ _Carissimi_ ,” he managed faintly. “Is... is very good... I love you, love you so much....”

“Are you sure? You made a noise I’ve never heard before, I worry you’re not fully here and present,” Fenris asked as he forced himself to remain still, even as his arm fell asleep and he felt a cramp trying to start in his calf,

“ _Si_... am sure,” Zevran nodded. “But you... you did not finish? Fenris?” He felt drowsy and drained, unable to move; and yet Fenris still felt so large and tight deep inside him. He ached deep inside now, yet even that was not enough to stop him wanting to feel that burst of pleasure once more. He didn’t think he was capable of moving however.

“No...I’d rather not hurt you for my pleasure. I can wait and hopefully this will go down soon. I just wish I could move so I can stop this damned cramp in my calf I can feel trying to start,” Fenris huffed as he tried to keep from moving, unsure how much movement was too much for Zevran. 

“Then you should move,” replied Zevran. “Though... I am not sure I could handle a fourth time. And yet it feels so good....”

“No, no, no. I can wait,” Fenris said in a hurry. “I will not hurt you further.” He slowly stretched his leg back until he could reach his calf and massage out the flare of a cramp he could feel until he felt the muscle loosen, and he let his leg drop slowly. “There, that’s better, are you alright?”

“I am not hurt,” said Zevran quietly. “It does not hurt... I just feel very full, and when you move... _brasca_ , Fenris, you have no idea how good it feels. I have never come so often in such a short space of time before.... Not even when I took that love potion ....did it feel this ...good....”

“I’m not moving, I’m not hurting you,” Fenris said tersely as he got into a comfortable position as he could before he settled in to wait. “Hopefully it won’t be more than an hour or so for you to be...freed,” he finished quietly. 

Zevran squeezed Fenris’ hand gently. “I will not press, _carissimi_ ,” he murmured. “Forgive me. I love you.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his body relaxed and limp in Fenris’ embrace. He felt incapable of moving, and suddenly he felt exhausted. He was aware he was slowly drifting into sleep; he tried to open his eyes. “Fenris,” he murmured. “Don’t leave me.”

“Kind of hard to leave when we’re stuck together by my cock,” Fenris muttered as he wrapped an arm around Zevran and tried to ignore how he felt physically. “Sleep, all is well,” he added as he closed his eyes rather than stare at the back of Zevran’s head.

Zevran was vaguely aware of the vibration of Fenris’ chest as the elf spoke, but his mind was too far gone into dreams for the words to register; his consciousness fled into dreams as his hand grew limp in Fenris’ grasp and the Antivan slept.

** 

Fenris had woken well before his elven husband, grateful to be able to separate and wash them both up before sliding back into bed, awake but unwilling to do more than lay there, staring up at the ceiling while his thoughts ran a bit wild. He didn’t do more than glance at the door as it opened, then went back to staring at the ceiling.

“Hey, you awake?” Vic asked as he sat next to Fenris.

“Despite trying not to be, yes. Seems I can’t sleep in anymore,” Fenris replied quietly.

“I thought you two would be curled up together, sound asleep but Anders needed something and didn’t want to disturb you. I figured I could be quick and let you sleep, didn’t expect to see you staring at the ceiling though,” Vic said as he brushed a few strands of hair from the white haired elf’s face.

“I’d rather be sleeping but my mind won’t settle. Get what you need for Anders; I’m going to try and sleep a bit more,” Fenris said with a glance to Zevran, hopeful they didn’t wake the elf.

“Was everything what you needed last night?” Invictus asked quietly.

“Sort of, until I knotted like a damned dog,” Fenris replied before turning to his side so he wouldn’t see the reaction on Vic’s face.

“That’s… new I guess?” the brunet mage said quietly, sensing his husband wanted to be left alone. “Don’t sleep too long love, we should breakfast and start our plans with your counterparts gone,” Vic said as he pressed a gentle kiss to Fenris’ temple before grabbing what Anders wanted and hurrying out.

It was about an hour later that Zevran finally stirred, blinking sleepily as he stretched then hissed softly in discomfort, feeling a deep ache inside as his body protested the previous evening’s activities. He smiled and gave an appreciative groan before rolling to his back and looking around for Fenris.

Fenris had sprawled on his stomach and was half-awake as he pondered what to do now that their doubles were gone and he had reached out to Zevran, but it had gone sideways once he’d knotted, again. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t realize the other elf was awake and watching him. 

Zevran rolled onto his side to face Fenris and rested his head on his hand as he stared at the other elf, ignoring the discomfort he felt inside as he moved. He waited, wondering what had Fenris so lost in thought that he hadn’t responded to Zevran’s stirring.

Fenris’ attention was far off on the previous night, and how stupid he felt for being afraid of just saying three words, or fear of his husband. Before he’d made it awkward with something he couldn’t help apparently. He wondered if that would always happen during sex and what he would do if that was the case. 

Zevran’s smile slowly faded as Fenris still didn’t respond - not even looking at him. “Fenris?” he finally said tentatively, his voice quiet.

The other elf turned his head to see Zevran and gave him a smile. “Hey, sleep alright?” he asked quietly before realizing how the blond was looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

“You have been so quiet... when I rolled over, you did not stir, and again when I turned to face you - I thought... I... I thought perhaps you were angry with me - you did not get to finish last night, whereas I came three times -” Zevran looked uncertain and worried still. “Are - are you angry?”

“Not at all, opposite of angry. I’m worried that this new change will put you all off of sex with me. I feel even more of a freak than before thanks to learning I can knot like a breeding hound,” Fenris said bitterly. 

Zevran reached out with the hand not presently propping his head up, and took hold of Fenris’ chin, tilting the other elf’s face up towards his a little before he leaned in and kissed Fenris thoroughly and deeply until he could feel his own lungs aching for lack of air. He finally pulled away just enough to let them both breathe and rested his forehead against that of Fenris.

“Foolish _carissimi_ ,” he said fondly. “Far from it. I have never come so much in such a short space of time in my life, and the third time was the most fantastic of all. I want to do it again.”

“You do?” Fenris asked in a small voice, shocked at hearing that. “I’m not .... too much of a freak for you?” he asked quietly. 

For answer, Zevran kissed him again until once more, they were both breathless when he broke the kiss off. “No,” he panted. “No, _carissimi_ , you will never be too much of a freak for me. For you are not a freak. You are Fenris, the man I love, and no freak at all. And if you say you are, then I shall kiss you until you come to your senses - or until I pass out from lack of breath; whichever happens first.” He grinned. “And if I pass out? I shall resume kissing you the moment I awaken. So, unless you want me to kiss one of us senseless, no more of this talk of freaks, eh?”

“You’re not the one who grew over a foot in a day, nor reacts like a dog in heat now.” Fenris said quietly before he rolled to his back and pulled Zevran atop of him. “I’m sorry for all I put you through, I’m so stupid.”

Zevran had had a brief moment in which to school his face so that he was able to keep his discomfort from showing on his face as Fenris rolled them both over. He couldn’t quite halt the faint hiss that escaped his lips; he opted to kiss Fenris again, as thoroughly and deeply as before, hoping Fenris would interpret the sound as merely Zevran’s displeasure with Fenris’ berating of himself. He held the kiss just long enough to feel himself growing lightheaded before breaking off to gasp for breath.

“I warned you, _carissimi_ ,” he panted. “One more word and I swear...!”

Fenris scowled as he let his hand glow a soft green and he rested that hand over Zevran’s backside, his eyes closing as he forced himself to concentrate on taking away the soreness and pain he could feel in the other elf. He kept quiet until he felt the inflammation and soreness easing up. 

Zevran groaned softly as he felt the pain slowly ebb away; he lowered his head to rest it against Fenris’ shoulder and lay there quietly as he felt Fenris’ magic rippling through him. He had forgotten in the moment that Fenris was now a mage, and he realised how foolish he had been to try and hide his discomfort. He could feel his body relaxing, not having realised until that moment how much effort it had been taking him subconsciously to will the pain away as he had been so used to doing for over half his life.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly.

“Welcome,” Fenris replied as he held Zevran to him and tried to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t hard any longer, so he was glad for small favors as they laid there.

“Have I made an ass of myself, beloved?” asked Zevran quietly, his voice a little subdued. 

“No, why do you ask such a thing?” Fenris replied, confused by the question. 

“You would think, after so long living with healers, that I would know better than to pretend there is nothing wrong with me when sharing a bed with one,” Zevran answered before lifting his head to stare into Fenris’ eyes. “But I still think the discomfort worth it.”

“I’m not a healer, I can only work on you so well because I know an unharmed version of you. You saw I could do nothing for Anders or anyone else that was hurt. My powers lie in harm, no surprise there,” Fenris said quietly, opting to remain silent on how worth it was for him to make Zevran ache so much. 

“I am a fortunate man indeed, to have three healers of my own, eh?” said Zevran, with a faint half-smile. “Maybe it is only me you can heal so well... but what other man can claim there is one who knows his body better even than he himself? And you know all my little ways and tells, eh? I can have no secrets from you where my body is concerned - and perhaps that is for the best, _carissimi_.” He brushed a light kiss onto the end of Fenris’ nose. “You will keep me honest where my body is concerned, no?”

“As long as you don’t hide it from us, which you’re good at,” Fenris replied as he returned the kiss and braced himself for a thing he wanted to bring up. “Speaking of honesty, can I tell you something?”

Zevran’s eyes suddenly held a wary look, but he nodded, wordlessly, unaware his body had tensed ever so slightly in Fenris’ arms.

“It’s nothing so bad as to make you tense up,” Fenris said quietly before he pressed a gentle kiss to the other elf’s lips again. “Two things; one is simple. Callus and I are not... we have not spoken since he snapped at me in our old rooms and I fear I have pushed him away for good, so he’s a sore subject. The other thing is not as easy for me to ask, but when...when it's just us, can I ask that you don’t bring up Anders or Invictus? In how we compare sexually? I’m still feeling a bit fragile, and for now it’s painful.” 

Zevran tried to relax as Fenris spoke - but after all the revelations that had been flying around between them all, it was hard not to feel tense when a request to speak honestly or make some confession was voiced now, particularly by Fenris. He blinked at the other elf’s requests, but after a moment, he nodded.

“I will not speak of Callus to you again,” he replied. “And... I am sorry, I was thoughtless when I mentioned Anders last night. I... did not mean to make comparison like that.” He glanced away, looking towards the door without meaning to. “I shall not mention Anders or anyone else when it is just we two alone, Fenris.”

“Thank you, I was worried you would not agree, tell me to be an adult about it but I wish to be honest with you all, and after we have come back to each other; I am trying - I hope it's alright,” Fenris said quietly.

Zevran nodded, then finally met Fenris’ gaze again. “Forgive me, I am... merely a little wary now for any further revelations,” he confessed. “I am not certain I could handle many more, _carissimi_. But this? I appreciate your candour. I do not wish to be the source of more conflict between us, even by accident.”

“I still am afraid, Zevran; it will take a while to work through it. Believe me, there are no more people I’ve slept with to reveal. I just wish I had been more honest with you all as to why, but let’s not revisit that pain again,” Fenris said before turning them over so he could kiss Zevran more and cuddle with him. 

“Fenris... can I ask you about the other Anders? And the other Dorian?” asked Zevran after a little while. “If you would rather I did not....”

“If you wish, though I only got to know the other Anders after we freed him of the demon,” Fenris replied quietly, as he rolled to the side so he could not get distracted by wanting to resume their lovemaking. 

“Dorian seemed angry that you had grown close to the other Anders after freeing him, but... I do not understand why? Dorian appeared to have formed an attachment to - to form a different relationship,” he corrected himself hurriedly rather than name his mirror self. “The other Anders... I saw very little of him after Anders - our Anders - was healed, save for when we were down by the oubliette. But he seemed quite different from our Anders. He reminded me almost of how I had known him in the Wardens, except a little quieter.”

“You mean to the other you?” Fenris corrected him gently. “Yes, after I showed them what Leto had been doing to them, he grew rather fond and extremely protective of the other Zevran. To a point where my jealousy came up and made things shall we say difficult. This was in addition to pretending to be Leto and having to be someone I’m not. As for that Anders, the other Dorian acted as if I had forced him into bed with me, when the opposite was true. It created a problem between us as time went on. While I am a bastard, I am not one to force affection where it is not wanted.” 

“He thought that the other Anders were not enough in his right mind to refuse you?” Zevran frowned. “Or did he think that the other Anders were merely only grateful for still being alive and unable to say no?”

“I think not enough in his right mind to refuse me. Though that was not true, I asked more than once to be sure he could refuse me. I wouldn’t dare do that!” Fenris replied, his voice rising just a bit at the idea of him taking advantage of someone in Anders state.

“I know, _carissimi_ ,” said Zevran soothingly. “And I know how much such an accusation would have hurt, particularly after it had been flung at you over Hal - and knowing what Anders, _both_ Anders, have endured in their lives. But I don’t understand why you felt jealousy over Dorian and Zevran finding each other like that - surely that would be for the best, after what they must have experienced at Leto’s hands? I have no way of knowing what he did to Dorian, but I have nightmares of what Zevran experienced - what I felt when I touched my bed, so much in such a short time - _brasca_ , to think I had spent so much time in his company, trusted him more than your brother! Aeolus knew nothing of what Leto did in that other Thedas, yet he had the right of it - I had no business allowing him to be in my room, much less my bed!”

“Regardless, I cannot explain my jealousy over them coming together. I think that place was affecting me before we realized how much evil had been done there. After all, I share my heart with you and Dorian, and I am not ...I am no longer jealous. It seemed to get worse when I thought I would not get home again. If ...if we had not freed Anders, and I’d had no one that I could have spoken to as myself I think it would have gotten worse. As it was, that last night before we came here, when Dorian was merrily riding Zevran in Leto’s bed, I was… angry and felt pushed away from them. That world got it's claws deeper into me than I’d realized,” the warrior admitted. 

Zevran glanced away with a thoughtful look. “I can see why it would have bothered you,” he said after a moment. “After all, in our world Dorian has been your lover - and no matter how different I and my mirror may be, it must have felt like a rejection to be excluded from their union after you brought them together. But perhaps they are safer together now they have all returned to their own Thedas. I can only hope that Leto will not return to that cruelty and inflict it upon the other Anders now he will not be able to move against them.” He glanced back to Fenris and smiled wryly. “It surprised me to realise how close they are; Dorian is a pretty man, but it has never occurred to me to even think idly of bedding him.”

“You probably scare him too much for him to have considered the same thing, Zevran,” Fenris said idly. He tripped his fingers over the other elf’s chest, a question still on his mind but he dared not voice it.

Zevran’s lips twitched, and then he rolled onto his back with a hearty laugh. “Dorian? Afraid of _me_?” he exclaimed. “The man is a necromancer! The raw power he commands - Fenris, Dorian can raise the dead! He is beautiful, yes, but he terrifies me inside!”

“Maybe you two should figure out if you are actually scared of each other and work that out,” Fenris said with a smirk he couldn’t quite hide. “I nearly threw him off a balcony, and yet he’s still willing to sleep with me on occasion.”

“And are you sure that is such a good idea, _carissimi_?” asked Zevran, still chuckling, before he raised his voice. “Invictus, if you wish to listen at keyholes you should learn to breathe more quietly! And Anders, I heard you squeak before Invictus clapped his hand over your mouth!”

“Shit - they heard all that?” Fenris said as he groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. 

“I am not certain how much they heard, but certainly they heard what I said of Dorian - and I think they may have heard from earlier, when you asked to be honest - Invictus did, at least,” replied Zevran, still staring at the ceiling as the door opened and Invictus stepped in, looking rather embarrassed, with Anders peering around him from just behind. 

“It sounds like you two worked everything out then?” Vic asked sheepishly as he saw the way Fenris’ back flushed and he heard the low groan from the elf. 

“You might say that, yes,” agreed Zevran, still chuckling. 

“Um. I’m sorry, we really didn’t _mean_ to eavesdrop,” said Anders apologetically.

“We didn’t but … we were hopeful you were having a good conversation and then we heard our names...and that you fear Dorian?” Vic finished on an questioning tone.

Zevran sat up, no longer laughing. “It is true,” he admitted quietly, not looking at any of them - indeed, it seemed he was actively avoiding their eyes.

“It’s just Dorian; besides, he’s not going to do any necromancy at you, Zev. He respects you, and I’m guessing fears the Crow Master and Inquisition spymaster as much as you do him. He’s not anyone to fear,” Vic added.

Fenris meanwhile had put the pillow back under his head to look at his husbands. “Can we drop this please? Maybe get breakfast and decide what we’re doing next, please?” he asked sheepishly.

Anders was staring at Zevran worriedly; he glanced at Fenris, then looked to Invictus before returning his gaze to Zevran. “Love - Fenris, this is clearly bothering Zevran far more than he let on,” he pointed out as Zevran stared towards the window.

“Alright but can we get dressed and get food while we talk about it? I don’t even know what time it is,” Fenris huffed just a bit.

“It is almost noon,” said Zevran quietly, still staring at the window. “You can tell from the colour of the light.”

“Zev, come on and talk to me ok?” Fenris asked quietly as he sat up and pulled the slighter elf into his lap. “What’s wrong?” 

Anders came and sat next to them, glancing up as Invictus did the same on the other side of Fenris; they effectively formed a triangle around the Antivan, Fenris’ arms holding him in place though he made no move to escape them.

Zevran sighed softly. “Many men and women have died at my hands,” he confessed, his voice low. “And whilst I do not remember all of their names, I remember their faces, and I see them almost every night in my dreams. Is it any wonder that I fear a man who can raise the dead from their very graves, when I am haunted by so many ghosts of my own making?”

“No, but it's just Dorian. Talk to him once he’s recovered from Adamant and sending them back. He won’t bite,” Fenris said quietly.

“He bit _you_ ,” Vic quipped then shut his mouth at the filthy glare he got for his lip. 

“You say he is afraid of me,” Zevran pointed out. “I know only too well what a man may be capable of when afraid. And I have seen his power - I have seen it often. I remember the Clearing; I remember that he went back in time.”

Anders couldn’t quite repress the shudder that went through him at mention of the Clearing. Even now, years later, he still struggled at times with fire magic - it had been bad enough after Kirkwall, but the Clearing had made it worse.

“Zevran, it's alright. We can let this go and accept it alright? I know what it’s like to not want to deal with fear or hard feelings when you didn’t expect it,” Fenris said quietly but with a look to the other two men in the room. “It’s ok… _carissimi_.”

Zevran stiffened at hearing the endearment finally come from Fenris’ lips; and then he shivered slightly.

“Zevran? Zevran, breathe!” exclaimed Anders, alarmed. The Antivan slumped back into Fenris’ arms, and then he gave a low sigh before drawing breath. 

“ _Carissimi_ ,” he said faintly. “I was afraid... I had not heard that word pass your lips since you returned.”

“I wasn’t ready to return it beyond that one evening. Though if you respond like this each time, it will worry me,” Fenris said quietly.

“I think I'll get him some wine, and see if we can get food into him if he’s going to faint like that,” Vic said quietly before heading back into the room he’d taken with Fenris and poured them all a glass of Rivain red that they had sent up before slipping back into Anders’ room. 

Zevran was quietly protesting that he was fine, even as Fenris and Anders pressed him down into a chair. “I did not faint - it was merely relief; see, I am fine now!” he was exclaiming. “I am fine, truly! It was only a momentary weakness!”

“Zevran,” Fenris said sternly as he took a glass from Vic and pressed it into the elf’s hands. “Drink that. I would like some clothes; excuse me a moment.” 

By the time he returned, Zevran had finished that glass and and Vic was pouring him a second one. “I am not entirely sure what came over me,” Zevran was confessing. “I heard him call me _carissimi_ and... there was no strength in me for a moment; as though all the fear I had held in my heart up until that moment had drained from me and taken my strength with it. I could not draw breath.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Fenris asked quietly as he took a seat on the bed, a faint frown for how the sheets still had evidence of their evening, and his mind went to how he hadn’t quite gotten all he wanted. 

“I think not hearing his affection returned had affected him, as it has all of us, Fen,” Vic said quietly as he sipped his drink.

“I think just as some of us need to feel physical affection,” said Anders slowly, his gaze on the glass of wine in his own hand rather than at anyone else, “Zevran perhaps needed to _hear_ it - even though maybe he hadn’t even realised it himself. He’s been so used to sex often being meaningless in the past that he needs the verbal reassurance when there’s more to it than that.”

Zevran darted him a startled glance, as though the Antivan himself had been unaware of that subconscious need.

Fenris looked down in shame as he tried to think of a response to that. 

Invictus came over and slipped an arm around his longest love to comfort him. “It’s alright.” 

“No, it’s not. I’ve ...I’ve not made the effort any of you have and I’m sorry. I keep hurting you all even as I try to make amends and do better,” Fenris said softly.

“Perhaps you were not to know,” murmured Zevran quietly, his eyes on his own glass of wine. “How could you, when I was not aware of it myself?”

“I’ve known you longer than anyone else here; at least as a friend,” replied Anders, his voice low. “I knew what you needed, love. I was just hoping Fen would realise sooner. I thought... I thought -” He broke off and swallowed. “I’m sorry, Fenris; I thought you knew. I would have spoken up sooner if I’d realised.”

“No… I didn’t. I’m so sorry,” Fenris said before dropping his head into his hands and trying to keep from breaking down. 

“Maker - I’m sorry, I should have said something!” said Anders, worried, as he looked between Zevran and Fenris. “Zevran, I’m sorry, this was my -”

“Hush,” said Zevran, and Anders fell silent. “I would not have had Fenris say it before he was ready, no matter how it made me feel. I would rather it came unbidden from his heart.” He glanced to Vic. “And I know that makes me a hypocrite,” he added. “You need not say it; I know it to be true.”

“I wasn’t going to say it but I did think it,” Vic said before he turned to Fenris and asked if he was alright.

“No, but I know if I leave this room it will cause a problem,” Fenris whispered in reply.

Anders blinked at Zevran, then Invictus, uncomprehending, before giving up and turning to Fenris. “Love, it’s alright... if you need time alone, we understand.”

Zevran glanced up at Fenris, then nodded. “I am fine now,” he agreed. “If you need space, that was why we took two rooms, yes?”

“Not after the way Anders reacted to me wanting my old room back. It’s ok. It’s … ok,” Fenris said as he sat there with one hand clenched in Invictus’ and the other barely holding on to the wine he’d been given back.

Anders rose to his feet and crossed to Fenris, leaning up to gently kiss the tall elf before pulling back to stare up into Fenris’ eyes. He smiled gently. “It’s alright, love,” he said softly. “Take time for yourself. I know you need it. Come find us when you’re ready.” He stepped away and glanced to Vic.

“It’s your room,” Fenris said roughly before taking another sip of wine. “I’ll be ok.” he added before giving Anders a weak smile. 

“Fen, go lie down and just rest ok? I’ll stay in here so you can have time alone,” Vic said as he gently took the glass and nudged Fenris until the elf was pushed through the adjoining door. 

Fenris found himself alone for the first time in a while that wasn't caused by a fight.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leto and the others return to Skyhold - to a less than warm welcome. And back in Fenris' Thedas, a visit to Callas reveals something to put their own personal troubles into perspective.

Leto was quiet as they sat on the side of the road a few hours after returning to their world. He wasn’t sure where they were, outside of being near the Frostback Mountains, which meant Ferelden somewhere. He and Dorian had been shown the portal spell, but seeing as how the other mage was more concerned with his lover than talking, he was at a loss for the moment. He turned to Anders who was quietly sitting with him, deep in thought.

“How are you feeling?” he asked the blond mage, concerned for his lover. 

“Honestly?” asked Anders quietly. “I don’t know. A little afraid, I think; I have no idea what’s going to happen when we get back to Skyhold. They think I’m dead, most likely; after all, Zevran made them think that’s what was going to happen to me. Maker knows, I was almost halfway to believing it myself - as Inquisitor I’d sent him off with people like that on more than one occasion. They probably felt it was poetic justice for me to be on the receiving end at last.” He glanced to Leto, a bleak look in his eyes for a moment before he blinked and gave Leto a small grin. “Good job I’m with you, eh?”

“Yes, I won’t let them have you, love. Besides, we’ll be too busy dismantling the Inquisition for them to worry about you. I just want to get this done and get on with our lives. Let me be your shield?” Leto asked quietly as he brushed some stray hairs from Anders’ face. 

Anders blinked, then ducked his head almost shyly. “This all feels very strange and new,” he confessed. “There’s ten years of my life missing, with only fragments here and there, then two weeks with Fenris - these weeks we’ve had? It’s... it’s like my old life is just some horrible nightmare. Or perhaps this is the dream, and I’m hoping I’ll never wake up. You’ll have to forgive me if I get a little lost in that sometimes.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m a bit off kilter as well but we’ll be alright together. Come on, let’s get back to Skyhold and deal with this so we can get a hot bath, a meal and finally get some sleep in a real bed,” Leto said as he pulled Anders to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Be patient with me too, I’ve got a lot to learn and to make up for.” 

Dorian glanced over at them as they rose to their feet; Zevran was tossing one of his knives absently in his hand as he gazed over towards the distant view of Skyhold. The Antivan had barely spoken since they’d arrived back in their own world; Leto knew the man well enough to know the Crow Master was nervous however, from the restless way no part of him had been still since they’d passed through the portal. The knife-tossing was merely an outward manifestation of an inner restlessness now.

Leto glanced over at Dorian and sighed before joining the other mage. “Are you ready to return?” he asked quietly. 

Dorian sighed. “Not really, but it’s the only real home I’ve known since I left Tevinter, and at least there I won’t feel as though I’m out of place and time the way I did back there. And at least the dangers are familiar ones.” He glanced up at Leto. “Even if the... situation... has changed and feels rather less familiar,” he added.

Leto caught the words that had come to him before he could say something unkind. Instead he held a hand out to Dorian. “Take his hand and hold mine until we get back to the gates. You can let go as soon as we arrive,” he said quietly, refusing to say the terrible things that came to him.

“Yes,” murmured Dorian quietly. “Wouldn’t want to give the overt impression there’s something between us, after all. Back to how it was, almost.” He took Leto’s hand and glanced away, but not before Leto could see a profound sadness in the grey depths of his eyes. The magister reached for Zevran’s hand.

The Crow caught his knife deftly by the handle and sheathed it smoothly before taking Dorian’s hand, his eyes still on Skyhold’s towers. “So, you are going to do the little trick Fenris does? Be careful then, Dorian; it can upset the stomach if you are unprepared.”

“I doubt it could do more to it than it already feels right now,” said Dorian quietly.

“It’s a way to get us back without having to walk for another day. Are you coming or not, Arainai?” Leto asked tersely as he waited for Dorian to take Zevran’s hand. 

“By all means, take us back, Inquisitor,” replied Zevran, his voice carefully neutral and his eyes almost empty.

“As you wish, Spymaster. Come along, I’d like to be back before nightfall,” Leto said before concentrating on the gates to Skyhold, how it felt when the others showed him how to teleport via his markings. Soon he felt that uneasy tugging as he managed to get them a few feet from the drawbridge. He dropped Dorian’s hand as soon as he could, but kept hold of Anders. He glanced at the other men coolly, eager to get their nug and pony show over with.

As soon as Leto released his hand, Dorian staggered a few steps away over to the edge of the cliff before the drawbridge and promptly threw up, Zevran catching hold of his arm in case the magister lost his balance; the Antivan had turned a little pale himself, though kept his composure. Beside Leto, Anders coughed and his hand tightened on Leto’s for a moment.

“Maker - not sure I could ever get used to that,” muttered the blond mage quietly.

“I don’t plan on doing this often, it ...tugs on my brands rather uncomfortably. Can you see to Dorian, as I am no healer? Then we can go in,” Leto said as he watched his First Enchanter and Spymaster.

Anders lifted his head to stare up at Leto, then glanced down to the elf’s hand and the fine silvery-white brands before hastily snatching his own hand away, afraid of causing him more pain. “Maker - I’m sorry, I should have realised!” he exclaimed. “Let me -” 

He checked himself as Leto stepped away, then nodded once. “I - you’re right, I need to check on Dorian and Zevran... the guards would notice if anything were amiss when we enter the gate.” He turned away and moved over to where Dorian was slowly turning back towards them, the magister looking rather queasy still. 

After a few minutes, they were ready to move on. Anders glanced up at the gate as they approached, clearly trepidatious as he walked between Leto and Dorian; as Leto took Anders’ hand once more, he felt the mage squeeze it tightly for a brief moment, in mute thanks for that silent reassurance. Zevran strode on the other side of Dorian, his walk easy and a faint half-smile upon his lips as they drew closer to the waiting guards who were exchanging frowns and worried looks.

“Ser?” called out one of the guards. “Inquisitor?” The man glanced from Leto to Anders, and then to Zevran.

“What?” replied Zevran with a mocking drawl. “Yes, the man lives! Close your mouth, Ser Fish! You gape worse than a landed trout.”

“Open this gate now, unless you want to get pitched off the bridge and replaced with someone more sensible,” Leto snarled as he let fire come to his free hand. 

“Well?” snapped Dorian tersely. “I’d do as he says were I you.”

Anders said nothing, staring down at the stones of the bridge as Zevran strode forward and backhanded the gaping guard who hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Anders. “You idiot,” he hissed. “Step aside. The Inquisitor will not need to sully himself chastising you if I spill your blood as a lesson to the others to obey orders, hmm?”

“Stand down!” barked one of the other guards. “Open the gate!”

The guards all backed away, hastily unbarring the gate; Zevran patted the cheek of the man he’d called Ser Fish and gave him a cold smile. 

“See now, that was not so hard, eh?” the Antivan said softly, before strolling away with a quiet laugh.

Leto glanced at Zevran but said nothing as he led them into the Keep, his hold on Anders tight as he dared without hurting the other mage. He didn’t stop until he was at the ornate chair that Vengeance had favored. He took a seat and waved a guard over. 

“Assemble everyone and get Ambassador Montilyet to witness what I have to say. Move, quickly,” Leto growled as he watched over the assembling crowd, watchful for anyone too interested in seeing their former Inquisitor with them. 

Zevran took up his accustomed position a little behind the throne, to Leto’s left; the exact spot he had always occupied when Anders had sat there. Dorian had taken the place where once Leto himself had stood, to the right of the throne.

Anders glanced around at them, then at the throne, as though at a loss as for where he was supposed to stand. 

“Stand next to Dorian; keep your hands on me if you need it to feel safe,” Leto said quietly as the throne room continued to fill. He glanced at another servant and beckoned them over. “Get us drink and have a hot meal prepared for all of us to be taken in the war room once this is over,” he requested before glancing up to see Josephine approaching. 

“Ambassador, good to see you again,” Leto said with a glance at the small Antivan woman. 

Her eyes flicked to Anders as he stood, ill at ease, between Dorian and the throne, one hand tentatively resting on the arm of the throne - almost but not quite as though reaching for Leto - then she turned her attention fully to Leto.

“Inquisitor, it is good to have you returned to Skyhold,” she replied. “You and _all_ your companions. How was your journey?” There was a clear question in her eyes as she lightly stressed the word _all_.

“Yes, it's good to be back home Ambassador, for good,” Leto said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope to make this fast and we can adjourn after in the war room to make things official. I trust this to you and your diplomatic skills.” 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she nodded. “I understand you have an announcement to make.” Her eyes darted almost imperceptibly fast towards Anders and then Zevran before returning to rest upon Leto, her face schooled to professional calm.

“I appreciate your work Ambassador. This will hopefully be a pleasant surprise for you,” Leto said as he glanced around and noticed his sibling and daughter had taken up spots where they could watch but leave quickly if needed. He felt conflicted at seeing them but it wasn’t the time to speak, he’d try later - much later. Instead he rose and stepped to the edge of the dais and waited for the crowd to settle down. 

Josephine inclined her head and gestured to him to speak. Before Leto could so much as draw breath however, there was a commotion at the back of the hall and then suddenly he was yanked backwards as Anders cried out briefly. Something clattered off the back of the throne just above Leto’s head as he fell, and then Zevran was standing over him, one hand snapping forward as he threw a knife which struck someone at the back of the hall.

“Arrest that man and have him taken for questioning!” snarled the Antivan as he stood before Leto - protecting him with his own body, Leto realised, as he glanced up and saw the crossbow bolt embedded in the back of the throne just where his head would have been if Zevran hadn’t yanked him back in time.

Leto stared at the bolt for a long time, until he heard someone calling his name. He turned to see Zevran over him while Dorian tried to get his attention. “I…” 

“Leto?” Anders’ voice shook slightly as he said the elf’s name as a question, his voice hushed. His arms were wrapped around himself and the blond looked deeply shaken; beside him, Dorian looked equally disturbed.

“Get the Inquisitor to safety,” urged Zevran in a low voice, not looking around. “There were two of them. My knife found one but I do not know where the other is. I will find them.”

“I don’t want to run from this, but I know my limits,” Leto said softly as he got to his feet and joined Anders. “Ambassador, give the decree that the Inquisition is to be disbanded effective a fortnight from today. I will speak again when Zevran has caught our attacker. Anders, please come with me to the war room, I don’t wish to be alone,” he added as he held Anders’ hand and tried to calm himself. 

Anders kept his other arm wrapped around himself but nodded his head as he pressed close to Leto. He swallowed hard and glanced nervously at Zevran, whose eyes were restlessly searching the crowded room.

“Go, Inquisitor,” said the Antivan softly. “I will join you when I have found the other attacker.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Dorian as he stepped up on Leto’s other side, his own gaze darting nervously around the room. “There were two crossbows fired together and we don’t know if there were only two - or there may be more. I’m not even sure all the bolts were for you - and I’d rather not find out the hard way.”

Leto was silent as he hurried out of the room, clutching Anders’ hand as they went. He was far more shaken than he wanted to let on to either man. As soon as the door was shut, he took up his usual spot and continued to collect himself. 

Anders dropped into the nearest chair, his face ashen; Dorian paced restlessly, his composure rattled. 

“Thank Dumat that Zevran is so fast,” the magister declared. “I never even heard the crossbows firing - first I knew of it was when Zevran launched himself at you! And now he’s hunting them. _Venhedis_ , what if the other bolt was for him? What if they’re only waiting to ambush him?”

“It wasn’t for him,” Anders said weakly. “And there’s no way they’d succeed in ambushing the Master of Crows.”

Letos remained silent as he considered things. He wasn’t sure who the bolts were for, but seeing Zevran actually shield him had thrown him off. He was used to threats on his life, but he was so sure the other elf would welcome his demise, that he didn’t know what to do about the Crow’s actions. He reached for Anders, needing the comforting touch of his lover. 

“How do you know that?” demanded Dorian as he turned towards the blond mage who was reaching a hand towards Leto.

“Because the second one didn’t miss,” answered Anders, gesturing down at the spreading dark stain his hand had been covering. “Got me in the ribs.”

“WHAT? Why didn’t you say something?” Leto said as he knelt in front of the other mage. “What do you need?” 

“For you to remain calm,” replied Anders quietly as he rested his head against the chair back. “I don’t think it’s serious... just messy. Passed through. Flesh wound, mostly. Just hard to think clearly right now. I think there was magebane; it’s... burning. I need you to clean it. Needs a dressing.” He closed his eyes; his forehead was beaded with sweat as the adrenaline of the moment wore off and he could feel the pain and the familiar queasy feeling of magebane taking hold, making it harder to think.

“I… I can do that. I’m trying to be calm but its kind of hard. Do you need to lie down?” Leto asked as he reached for Anders and remembered that magebane affected him pretty badly. He turned to Dorian with worry.

“Can you send for healing supplies, and ...gloves? You saw what magebane did to me when I touched it last time. Please?” Leto asked softly as he fretted over Anders. 

“Maybe - Leto, if you take us all to my room? I have supplies there,” suggested Dorian. “Or - wait, Josephine or Zevran - either of them could touch him and clean the wound without harm!”

“Josie,” murmured Anders. “She - she said she would follow... didn’t she?”

“I came as swiftly as I could, Inquisitor; I -” Josephine broke off, startled, as she hurried in then took in the sight of Anders near fainting in the chair, his tunic dark with blood, Leto and Dorian anxiously standing over him. She turned back to the door and spoke hastily to a guard then crossed the room to their side. 

“He was hit?” she asked as she leaned over Anders to gently peel open the sodden tunic.

“Magebane,” Anders replied tersely as he gritted his teeth.

“Please help him, Josie, while I take Dorian to get a healing kit from his room,” Leto said as he reluctantly backed away from Anders so she could take over. 

She nodded. “Of course, Inquisitor,” she agreed. “Please, hurry!” Her attention was on Anders as she deftly unlaced his tunic and shirt then peeled them open to reveal a messy, ragged wound across his ribs on the left side; it looked as though the bolt had struck him as Anders turned towards Leto, the steel shaft ploughing messily through his flesh but thankfully only a flesh wound, as Anders had said. Had Anders not turned when he did, it would doubtlessly have been much worse.

Leto grabbed Dorian and took them to the magister’s quarters, his mind racing as he worried for Anders. “What do you need? I’ve got a free hand, or if you can give me a rucksack if it’s a lot,” he said as he watched the magister. 

“Here,” said Dorian as he staggered over to his travel pack in the corner where one of the servants had placed it. “I have - yes, mine’s still in my pack!” He pulled out the flat-wrapped package of bandages, poultices and other healing supplies and held it out to Leto. “There’s healing potions on the shelf behind you - over my desk,” he added with a gesture. “And - I don’t know, I’m terrible at this healing stuff!” He stared at Leto anxiously. “This should never have happened - no matter how I may feel about things between you and I, I never wanted Anders to be hurt!”

“I can’t talk about that right now,” Leto replied as he turned to gather things in a sack, including the potions Dorian had indicated. Once he’d put things in a sack and slung it over his shoulder he turned and waited for the other mage to take his arm so they could return. 

Dorian looked up at him, and Leto could read fear and worry in the Tevinter mage’s eyes. “Leto - Zevran put himself in front of you. He - he was willing to be a living shield for you.” 

Leto stared at him as he tried to keep himself together. “I… I can’t do this now, please Dorian. Please,” he begged quietly as he willed the other mage to take his arm and return. 

Dorian held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then laid his hand on Leto’s arm and steeled himself for the sickening lurch as Leto’s brands flared into light once more and with a wrench they found themselves back in the war room, where Josephine was leaning over Anders, cleaning his wound, a bowl of bloodied water on a low table next to the chair. Anders’ eyes were closed, his face far too pale for Leto’s liking; but as the flash of light lit up the room he opened them and glanced up at him.

“Hi, I have some potions and can stitch you up once Josephine is done,” Leto said as he knelt next to his lover and took his hand. 

Despite his discomfort, Anders managed a faint grin. “Not the sort of welcome I’ve been used to, love,” he managed. “I don’t remember it hurting this much, the last time someone tried to assassinate me in the throne room. And I’m not even the Inquisitor any more!”

That broke Leto’s resolve and he leaned forward to rest against Anders’ shoulder, crying silently as he gave up holding himself together. He’d had no chance to really deal with the last month, and having his lover nearly killed as soon as he’d tried to settle things, as well as being thrown by Zevran’s actions was too much for the elven mage. 

He was aware of Anders quietly calling his name, the mage clumsily trying to stroke his hair whilst not moving too much so Josephine could finish cleaning his wound. “Love... love, it’s going to be alright,” Anders managed faintly. “Things will work out, I p-promise....”

“It’s not. We weren’t back a day before someone tried to kill you and me. My protection means nothing, I’m not even able to protect you in Skyhold. Why did we come back?” Leto asked quietly as he remained on his knees, his grip on Anders loose as he succumbed to the emotional break he’d been holding back for days. 

He felt Anders rest his cheek against his head, the mage’s arm now draped around Leto’s shoulders as the elf wept into the injured man’s shoulder. “Oh, love,” Anders sighed, his voice faint and soft. “We had no choice. I don’t think we ever really did. I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t apologize,” Leto said as he sat back and scrubbed at his face. “I thought I could at least keep you all safe for a fucking hour.” The elf rose and went to gather himself and wash up briefly. He ignored them until he felt like he had some control before turning to get potions for his lover. 

“When you can sit up, I have healing potions from Dorian’s room,” Leto offered quietly. 

Anders’ eyes had drifted closed, but he opened them again with a little effort. “Probably best if you stitch me first,” he murmured. “Which will be difficult with me slumped in this chair.”

“The table,” said Josephine as she let the cloth drop into the bloodied water. “He can lie down on the table; it is big enough, and then Leto, you can stitch him up.”

“Here,” said Dorian as he shrugged out of his outer robe and folded it up. “Use this for a pillow under his head.”

“But... the map....” Anders protested weakly.

“ _Brasca_ \- forget the map!” exclaimed Josephine. “The Inquisition is over; what use will the map be then? Enough men have bled over the damned thing; what does it matter if a man bleeds _on_ it?” 

“To the void with that bloody map,” Leto snarled as he gently helped Anders up and to the table. “Rest easy, and maybe take my belt to bite on, this won’t be pleasant,” Leto said as he prepared to work on his lover. 

“It can’t hurt any worse than the last time I had to stitch myself after magebane,” Anders murmured as he closed his eyes.

Leto was quiet as he took his rings off and began to stitch the other mage’s wound. He worked swiftly but carefully until there was nothing but a neat row of stitches closing up Anders. He was startled when Dorian pressed a hot towel in his hands to clean up. 

“Thank...you,” he replied softly. 

“Don’t mention it,” replied the magister absently as he stared down at Anders. The blond mage had been mostly silent save for the occasional hiss of breath here, a near-silent gasp there; his eyes were still closed as he lay on the table, though the careful, slow, shallow breaths he took indicated he were still conscious.

Leto sat down at the war table and sighed. He reached out to touch Anders’ shoulder as he finally relaxed. “How did the pronouncement go, Josephine?” he asked after a while. 

“It is hard to say,” she replied. “There was so much chaos and confusion over the attempted assassination attempt; and they were also confused and surprised by Anders’ presence. They believed him dead at Zevran’s hand; they were quite taken aback to find him standing at your side with Dorian. Now they are wondering if you have taken both he and Dorian into your bed, and how things stand at present. Your proclamation will have quite upset things, but it will take a little time to establish what attitude they will take to it. Everything happened very quickly. My people are at work however; we have been prepared for this for a while.” She was regarding him intently. “I must confess that until I saw how you and Anders are together - your response to his injury... I was not sure if it were Fenris or Leto who had given that proclamation.”

Leto glared at her comment before turning back to Anders. “No need to insult me by not being able to tell me from _him_ Josephine,” he replied. 

“On the contrary,” replied Josephine. “You should be impressed that he did such a good job of pretending to be _you_ when in public before the court whilst taking your place.”

Anders stirred slightly. “Certainly the guards had no clue,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. “I heard them often, outside my door whilst I was locked up - they assumed he was you. Particularly after the way he treated Zevran, apparently. Something about how they’d been certain you were going to hang him for this one. I’m not sure what ‘this one’ was supposed to be, and I don’t think I really want to know.”

“No, you really don’t,” said Dorian softly. “I rather wish I didn’t. As, I am afraid, does Zevran.”

“He did a good enough job shattering things around here, didn’t he?” Leto said angrily before he jumped up to pace around the room. He was still angry with Fenris and now he had no chance to lay into his double. He knew in the back of his mind that he was wrong for being so angry but the absent warrior was an easy mark for his rage in lieu of taking it out on his former or current lovers. He was unaware of Anders’ hand reaching out for him as the mage opened his eyes and turned his head, worried, but both Josephine and Dorian noticed it and exchanged a worried look as Leto paced, oblivious. Anders let his hand fall and watched, biting his lip.

“Leto, just try and put yourself in his shoes for a moment,” said Josephine firmly. “An outsider, trying not to get himself killed - but also a man who hadn’t been exposed to the blood magic in the Rookery the way we all had, one way or another. He could see clearly how poisonous this fortress is. Can you blame him for wanting to change that? To try and put a stop to it? Can you blame him for trying to free a man from the demon possessing him - and bewitching the rest of us?” She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him in frustration. “Leto, things _needed_ to be shattered! Can you honestly say you would wish things to be as they were before, with all of us wondering how long it would be before you might kill Zevran? Or that Vengeance might do it, or kill any of the rest of us? This place was killing us all by degrees - and some of us faster than others!”

“Leto,” said Dorian quietly. “Yes, things shattered. But Josephine is right. And Anders is free and in his own mind at long last because Vengeance had threatened Zevran and I - and Fenris wasn’t going to stand by and let that happen, any more than you would have done. But I don’t think any of us would have dared mutiny against the Inquisitor on our own.”

Leto stared down Dorian as he fought to keep his temper in check. “I did not say I wanted things to continue as they were Pavus. Do you not think I’m glad for Anders being free of his demon? Do you not think I am glad that we are not living in terror? I do have a right to be angry, and before you keep harping on me? I know I have no reason, just let me be fucking angry and scared for once,” he snapped before taking a seat once more.

Dorian and Josephine exchanged another glance, then Dorian turned away to start straightening out the supplies from the healing kit. “I think your wound will need dressing, Anders,” he said quietly, his voice carefully neutral.

“Yes, I should think it will,” murmured Anders in reply, his eyes closed once more. “Certainly before I try to move anywhere. Or be moved.”

Josephine was regarding Leto with a small frown. “That was uncalled for, Leto,” she said firmly, the thin line of her lips indicating disapproval. “We are all angry and upset. We are _all_ afraid. I have been afraid since the moment I learned that the man the Inquisitor and Dorian brought back was not you. I was only more afraid when he left, taking Dorian and Zevran with him, and Anders too! I have been holding this place together since they left and praying that no-one discovered that this had all been a pack of lies and obfuscation for the past month! And Dorian is afraid, because people were shooting at you and Zevran put himself in harm’s way, prepared to even die for you! And even now he is hunting down one of the two assassins that we know of, not knowing if there may be more! And Anders is scared and hurting because he knows there are many people here who would gladly see him dead - and that one of them came very close to succeeding! So, you see, _Inquisitor_ -” she practically hissed the name, “we are _all_ angry and scared. So, tell me what good it does to take out your fear and anger on us? We are not the cause of it! And this anger will only endanger us all needlessly!”

Leto glanced at her then back to the floor. “You’re correct, Ambassador Montilyet; I apologize,” he said before falling silent once more. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed with Anders at his side than to be there. Instead he waited for them to keep laying into him.

Josephine exhaled slowly. “I need to know what happened after Fenris and the others left, and what has happened since then. That was two weeks ago, and I have heard nothing - not even one of Zevran’s crows with a message. I need to know what will happen now. Fenris left me with orders to wind up the Inquisition if I had not heard from any of you by two weeks; I have the papers and declarations all prepared, but it will take at least a year to wind it up. You cannot disband an organisation as large as the Inquisition on only two weeks’ notice, and I will have to work hard to mitigate the damage a careless proclamation like that would cause. I wish you had spoken to me first instead of leaving me to hear it at the same time as everyone else - I am here to _advise_ you, Leto, and I cannot do that if you will not speak to me first of your plans and at least have my people in place to handle any fallout. I must speak to my people now, because there will be riots in the barracks tonight.”

“Dorian would be better suited to fill you in on what happened, I found them after they returned to Skyhold with _him_. If you will have time later I can speak to you Ambassador. For now, please leave me with Anders so I can dress his wounds. I’ll take him to my room afterward. If you wish to speak, I will be there,” Leto said quietly as he reached out and rested a trembling hand on Anders’ shoulder. 

Anders’ eyes remained closed, but he lifted his hand to rest it over Leto’s.

“I’ll help you dress his wound,” Dorian said, his voice subdued.

“Very well, Inquisitor,” said Josephine. “I shall seek you out later. Dorian, I shall have guards assigned to escort you back to your room when you are ready, and to keep you safe in case there are any other assassins we don’t yet know about.”

“Thank you, Josie,” he nodded.

“I can take care of Anders myself. Let guards escort you now Dorian,” Leto added quietly as he sat there with his eyes closed. He couldn’t bear to see either of them looking at him with anger or worse, pity.

“Leto, the work will go quicker with two - and cause Anders less pain,” Dorian added. “We can help him sit up together, and then I’ll support him whilst you dress the wound, alright? And then I’ll go. I just want to save him a little pain.”

“Fine, since you won’t leave me be,” Leto said tiredly. 

“No - since I don’t want Anders to be in any more pain than he has to be,” Dorian corrected, his voice firmer and a little more insistent. “This has nothing to do with not wanting to leave you be - you’ll be at plenty of liberty to wallow to your heart’s content afterwards, but not until Anders has been taken care of and can sit up well enough to take one of those potions - and then I will be out of your hair. But if you try to sit him up on your own, that wound will tear open - I may not be a healer, but I’ve been around enough wounds like that to know that much.”

Leto growled as he sat there, listening to Dorian. “Get..out!” he snarled, feeling fire come to him as his temper flared up. “Leave now, Pavus, and let me take care of him before the next announcement I make will be about your untimely demise!” He glared at the other mage, one hand wreathed in flames, the other still resting gently on Anders shoulder. 

“Love... stop,” pleaded Anders as he stared up at Leto. “He’s not saying it to goad you! Please.”

“It’s bad enough you got hurt because of me, I just want to take care of you myself. He doesn’t care about either of us,” Leto said before he tamped down on his powers and turned away to get one of the healing potions he’d brought. 

“I _do_ care,” muttered Dorian softly. “Dumat damn me, but I do. About both of you.”

“I know,” breathed Anders faintly.

Leto said nothing, instead he uncorked a potion and held Anders up just slightly so he could help him drink it. He was suspiciously quiet as he waited for his lover to take the potion.

Even that small movement caused Anders to grimace slightly as the stitches tugged and pulled. He said nothing however, but drank the potion; the relief was clear in his eyes as he lay back down again.

Dorian held his tongue and said nothing. 

Leto gently laid Anders down and started to unroll bandages, remaining quiet as he passed a roll to Dorian so they could work. Between them they supported Anders as they eased him upright, and then Dorian helped support Anders as Leto dressed and bandaged the wound, until Anders could sit up unaided - the stitched wound supported properly by the cloth. Anders nodded his thanks to the magister as Dorian stepped away.

“I’ll leave you both in peace, then,” said Dorian.

“Thank you, Dorian,” said Anders.

“Think nothing of it - rest up and let time and that healing potion do their work until you regain your mana,” shrugged Dorian. He nodded briefly to Leto then left before the elf could take umbrage at him again.

“I’m sorry,” Leto said quietly once they were alone. “I failed you already, lost my temper at them and I feel like I’m losing control before we even have been back a day.” 

“Leto, the crossbowmen were shooting at you,” Anders pointed out. “If not for Zevran then they’d have hit you. I just got unlucky is all; had Dorian been the one standing there, then _he_ would have been hit. It’s just fortunate for me that I was turning towards you at that moment. And fortunate for us all that Zevran reacted faster than any of us.”

“He’s going to hold that over me now,” Leto said softly, his gaze on the floor instead of Anders as he crouched before the former warden. 

“Or maybe he won’t,” said Anders. “Maybe he’s just too intent on finding the other assassin - or making the first one talk. And maybe he’s trying not to let himself be distracted by thoughts of what if.” He trailed a hand lightly over the bandages. “Believe me, I’ll be trying to avoid thinking that myself. There’s a hundred ways that could have gone so much worse than it did, and I’m trying not to dwell on that too much myself.”

“He never has been altruistic, and I doubt he’d start now,” Leto replied before finally looking to his lover. “Can you walk or do you want me to teleport us to my quarters?” 

“I’d rather walk - but I suspect teleporting would be safer,” Anders sighed. “At least until my mana comes back and I’m no longer a liability. The last thing you need if that other assassin puts in an appearance is to be hampered by me like this.”

“You’re not a liability,” Leto said as he rose and wrapped an arm gently around Anders. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” said Anders, his body already tensing in anticipation.

As the war room disappeared and they were wrenched through the Fade, Leto felt Anders’ arms clutch tighter around him and an almost frightened noise escape the other mage before they were standing in his own quarters.

“Sorry, I’ll help you to bed,” Leto said as he gently shepherded Anders up to his sleeping area and made a choked noise at the state of the bed. “We’ve been gone all this time and no one touched my quarters?” he said as he helped Anders into a chair. 

He frowned at the state of the bedding, the yellowed stains and the ropes hastily snipped around his bedposts. He glanced back at Anders with a raised eyebrow. “I take it Fenris really got into pretending to be me and took one of them in my bed?” he asked in annoyance. 

“I don’t know what he got up to, up here,” Anders replied with complete honesty. “I never came up here; I only was allowed as far as your office whilst he was here.” He thought for a moment, then decided he ought to come clean. “I should warn you that there’s likely a dried... er... stain. Beneath your desk.”

“A stain..from what?” Leto asked as he began to strip the bedding as he frowned even more at the state of it. He muttered aspersions against Fenris, wishing him every bad thing he could think of. 

“I, ah... didn’t swallow quickly enough,” Anders confessed, keeping his gaze on the floor.

“So it wasn’t enough to take over my life for a month, he had to take you as well as then?” Leto sneered as he pulled clean sheets from the wardrobe and made the bed. He pitched the crumpled bedding down the ladder as well as a basket for someone to take. The elven warrior didn’t wait for an answer before setting the basket out and requesting his office be cleaned as well as fresh bedding left on his desk. He climbed to his room and started to undress, all the while muttering under his breath. 

“I’m sorry,” Anders said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done it. I was... grateful that he hadn’t let me die. And that he wouldn’t let the templars finish the job.” He was still staring at the floor.

“I’m not angry with you. I’m just… done in with all of what’s happened. Let me put cantrips up on the windows and lock things down before we try to sleep.” Leto turned the bed down and offered an arm to Anders so he could help him over. 

Anders rose to his feet, grateful for the support of Leto’s arm as he pressed a hand against the bandaged wound. “Damned magebane,” he murmured absently. “Had my fill of that for a lifetime. Never thought I’d get dosed with it yet again, after starving myself rather than touch it last time.”

“Long as I can keep you safe, it will be the last time.” Leto said as he warded the room, made sure the windows and door leading into his sleeping quarters were locked and set with cantrips. He finally slid in next to Anders and curled up next to the blond mage. 

“Forgive my outburst earlier, I am sorry love,” Leto said before nuzzling against Anders’ shoulder and falling quiet once more. 

“I have no idea what it was like for you in Fenris’ Thedas,” said Anders quietly as he gazed at the ceiling overhead. “Finally seeing Dorian and Zevran again and learning how your relationship had changed, after two weeks of being stranded there... it can’t have been easy. Learning I have ten years missing of my memories - and that he was the one who brought me back... and then all of this happening before we’ve even been back a whole hour? Well, I can understand why you’d blame Fenris, and want to lash out. We’ve all had a rough time, really. This....” Anders lifted a hand and gestured at the bed. “This can’t have helped. What I’ve been through since Vengeance was stripped away has been pretty mild by comparison, really. Certainly no worse than I ever experienced in the tower, to be honest. I mean, the crossbow bolt - it hurt, still does, though not quite as bad as before I had the potion - but still, it was unfortunate but they might have killed you - and that would have been so much worse. I’m not sure I could have handled that. I think I would sooner die myself than have to face that - and I’m remarkably fond of living, usually.”

He glanced at Leto. “Just... please don’t take it out on Dorian. He’s terrified he’s going to lose Zevran, and right now he thinks there wouldn’t be a single person in this fortress who would give a damn about him if that happens. He’s wrong... but then you both are, aren’t you? And so is Zevran - but that didn’t stop Zevran throwing himself between you and harm’s way. I don’t think he’s going to lord it over you love - right now he’s hunting high and low for the other assassin so they won’t have a chance to do it again. He’s likely blaming himself for not having stopped the attack, much as you were for letting me be hurt. And he’s just as wrong about that too, because he never had a chance to stop it. And nor did you. And I still feel safer here, with you, than with anyone else, love.” He smiled sadly. “You didn’t fail me. We didn’t know that would happen.”

Leto sighed as he cuddled closer to Anders. “I’ll leave Dorian alone if he does the same. Zevran has never done anything without reason, so it's not strange to think he won’t use this against me at some point if not now. Can we please just sleep? I’m … I just want to not think about them, or today or that other Thedas for a while, please Anders?” he asked just as quietly as the other man had spoken. 

“Alright, love,” Anders nodded. “Just... try and bear in mind that since the blood magic was broken and I was freed, none of us are the men we were before you and Fenris got swapped over. And we’re all still trying to work out just who we all are now.” He leaned in closer and kissed Leto gently, ignoring the pain that flared in his ribs at the movement. “Never doubt that however much we’ve all changed, I love you - and that’s _not_ going to change,” he smiled softly, before lying back and closing his eyes.

“Thank you love,” Leto replied before he curled up and tried to sleep. 

***

Fenris was a little at a loss; he finally had the privacy and space he’d been asking for, and yet now he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it. Vic was right, of course; Zevran wasn’t really himself, and Anders and Vic had him well in hand. But that left Fenris alone with his thoughts and feeling a little bewildered, to tell the truth.

He didn’t much fancy staying in his room alone, wondering what was going on next door; it was barely noon, but he wasn't particularly hungry. In lieu of anything better to do, he decided to take himself off for a walk.

It had already occurred to him that now they were all in the College, he would have more chances to speak to Varania before she returned to Minrathous. He couldn’t help but remember that she had told him she’d never cast blood magic before; if she’d told him the truth, that meant the first time she’d drawn blood to cast with, it was to bring Ellowynne back - and it had been clear Anders had already told her that at need, she could draw his blood. That disturbed him - that in spite of his experience at the hands of Vic when he was possessed, and his own feelings about blood magic, he had so willingly offered his own blood like that - but he was also worried about Varania, if he were honest with himself. If that were truly the first time she’d cast blood magic, she might be feeling more than just disturbed. Would it have scared her, terrified her, after all they’d both experienced at the hands of magisters? Or would it have enthralled her - would she feel drawn to it again? He had to know.

But the College was a large place, and Fenris had rarely set foot in it; there were far more mages here now than there had been before they’d left Skyhold for Nevarra, and he had no idea where guest mages and researchers might go. Everyone seemed so busy and to know where they were going, and he felt reticent to disturb them - some were clearly students, whilst others looked like they might be teachers, and all with somewhere to be - and in a hurry, too. He finally found himself in the library, and spotted the dark red hair of his daughter, Pin. Relieved to see one familiar face here, he headed for her.

Pin was sat at one of the tables, her head bent over a book.

Fenris cleared his throat as he approached, not wanting to startle his daughter. “Hello Pin.”

Pin looked up, an absent look in her eyes - head no doubt full of what looked like quite complicated formulae from the page she’d been studying - and then they focused on him and she smiled. “Father! What a surprise! Have you been looking for me? This place is a real maze, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and your aunt as well but this place _is_ a maze,” Fenris agreed as he sat across from her with a smile. “I’m pleased to have found you, Pin.” 

She shrugged. “I’m generally in the library most days,” she replied. “Some of the stuff Dorian has me studying is pretty esoteric. He’s an amazing teacher and I’m in awe of his theoretical knowledge - but it’s pretty challenging stuff, and I sometimes feel as though I’m only barely keeping up with all he expects of me.” She gestured at the stacks of books. “That’s why I’m in here; it’s quiet and I can concentrate better.” She grimaced slightly. “He says I’m too easily distracted, and he’s right. And that’s when I lose grasp of whatever it is I’m doing.”

“Forgive me then, I didn’t mean to bother you while studying,” Fenris said as he glanced down at what his daughter was studying, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it. 

“Oh, I was about ready to take a break anyway,” she shrugged. “I’m finding it hard to make sense of these formulae right now, and I’ve been butting my head against it for a couple of hours.”

“I see,” Fenris said as he glanced at his daughter, a grown woman and accomplished mage under Dorian’s tutelage. “Will you take a walk with me as I try to find your aunt?” 

“Sure!” replied Pin as she closed the book. “I’ve been a little worried about her myself; I haven’t seen her about since you all got back from Adamant. Ellowynne’s been up and about today, but no sign of Varania at all, and she’s normally been through the library by now. I wanted to ask her about Paracyne’s Fourth Transfiguration, as she was talking about it the day before you sent the others back.”

“The who’s what?” Fenris asked as they headed towards the living area, he thought. “I...have not been working on my magic and the theoretical chatter of you and Dorian is beyond my understanding Pin. I don’t understand any of it, as I have just now have found I carry magic in my blood.” 

“Paracyne was a Tevinter altus who lived two hundred years ago,” Pin replied as they walked. “He completely revolutionised the whole field of Force magic with his Rules of the Seven Transfigurations; pretty much all the really high level research done today would be impossible without his discoveries and theories. Only, well, it’s pretty heavy going. Dorian arranged for much of his own personal library to be sent here, and he insisted I couldn’t progress without a thorough grounding in the Seven Transfigurations.” She glanced at her father with a small frown. “You really do need to study and work on your own magic though, Father. Ellowynne told me about how you discovered your magic, and I have no idea why it should only now come to light - but it’s dangerous to neglect it. Not just to you but to anyone around if it gets away from you. And if you’re trying to repress it, I should warn you that that could have pretty unpleasant consequences; it could harm you.”

“I have already wound up in the infirmary once, and I know I should work on managing my magic but things have been hectic. Considering I damn near broke my neck after that fall, I’ve been a bit preoccupied, Pin.” He glanced away from his daughter and sighed. “I’ve also not found someone to teach me, Dorian does not think it would work and I have already shown myself to be a bad student with Invictus and Anders.” 

Pin studied the floor as they walked, then darted her father a sidelong glance. “Master Anders is an excellent teacher,” she said slowly. “I learned a great deal from him. He would be a good teacher for you - but after the huge arguments you’ve all been having and... and what you did... I understand if you felt it wouldn’t work. I’ve been really worried about you all, and I feel guilty that I added to that by my reaction.” She stared at the floor again and sighed. “So does Cal, though he won’t admit it. But I know he’s really bothered by it. He’s even been avoiding Master Zevran, and I think he’s been in trouble with Krem for not paying attention in the sparring ring.”

Fenris had stopped and tried to catch himself from letting his anger run wild at the reminder of what Zevran had done after they’d had such a good night. “I’d rather not be reminded that Zevran told you both details of our… problems,” he said tersely before moving again. 

“Besides, Callus has been avoiding me since that day. The couple of times I’ve spotted him, he’s turned and gone the opposite way. I’m...I wish Zevran had not told you both of the full details, I’m still humiliated by that,” he finished. 

Pin came to a halt and regarded him with an embarrassed expression. “I’m sorry, Father. We were worried. Master Zevran nearly fell from the wall of the Rookery when he and Cal were over thirty feet up; if he’d fallen, he might have been killed. It shook Cal up badly, and he couldn’t think what would have put Master Zevran in that state. He managed to get him up to his room in the Rookery, and I’m afraid he badgered Master Zevran until he told him. Cal told me that Master Zevran really wasn’t himself. It was Cal who told me the details; he was furious to see his Master like that, but afterwards - after we went to see you - when he calmed down, he was mortified he’d done that. He’s avoided Master Zevran ever since. He doesn’t know what he can say or do to make amends.”

“Of course he’d want to make amends to _Zevran_ ,” Fenris muttered crossly as they walked. “It doesn’t matter, Pin. He’s been angry with me for a while and I guess I have to accept that he won’t face either of us. Not like he’d apologize to me anyway,” the older elf groused. 

“Just like you couldn’t believe _I_ would apologise, Father?” she asked quietly. “Must he beg you on his knees again, like he did before? You two are so alike sometimes, I swear. He doesn’t think you’d believe he really means it and that he really does want to say sorry.” She sighed. “You’re both so stubborn, and you’re both hurting - I can see it so clearly, and yet you two can’t. I know you still love each other; you wouldn’t be this angry about it if you didn’t.”

“I didn’t ask or want him to beg me like that Pin!” Fenris huffed at his daughter before he turned away to keep from lashing out with his magic or by letting tears fall. “I … don’t think he loves me, not as he once did. I’m humiliated, Pin; try to understand. After you laid into me? Yes, I was surprised you apologized, I am ashamed to say it. Forgive me that, daughter?” he asked quietly.

Pin halted once more, staring at him. “Father, I forgave you then. I know you were upset and hurt. But I’d been hurt too. Hurt for Master Anders - and for Master Zevran. He’s always been kind to me - and I think you know how I feel about Master Anders. I don’t harbour a childish crush on him as I once did - but I care about him greatly, and when he died I was devastated. Almost as much as if you had died, Father. And the thought that you had hurt him so badly - Father, I was _disappointed_ in you. I’ve come to terms with that in my own way, and I was truly sorry for how I lashed out. I still am. And so is he, but he doesn’t think you would take an apology from him, and it’s crushing him. He hasn't come out of his room in days, and I wish you two would just _talk_. We’re family, Father. You, me, Callus and Varania. We share blood. And he and I may not have shared the same mother, but he’s still my brother. He’s still your son.”

“Would you believe I am afraid of him being angry and so hurt he won’t talk to me?” Fenris admitted as he looked to his daughter finally. “I’m not as strong as people think and it would really hurt if Callus refused to see me, or no longer wanted me in his life.” 

“Yes, I believe it,” nodded Pin. “Just as he’s afraid, too. Afraid that he’ll be rejected, the way our uncle has been - and for the same reason; he’s afraid that this time he’s gone too far, and that his temper has destroyed everything between you. I’m afraid that we’ve already lost our uncle. I don’t want this rift to drive you both so far apart that he loses his father - and you lose your son. My brother.”

“I will deal with Aeolus later, but for now I can still try to make this right. Let us get him food and see your brother. I just hope he will hear me,” Fenris said with a half smile for his daughter. 

Pin nodded.

It was almost an hour later when they returned from the College kitchens, laden with food. Fenris belatedly realised Pin was leading them back in the direction of the guest suites he and the others had moved in to. 

“He’s just down here,” Pin called over her shoulder as she led the way. “The tower is so crowded these days that some of us have had to move out to the guest wing.” She halted outside the door next to his room. “This is it.”

Fenris realised that Callus’ room was right next to his own - and he had been oblivious. He’d thought the room empty, in truth; he’d heard no sound from the room, nothing to indicate anyone was staying there.

“I had no idea he was right next door to us,” Fenris said quietly, before he raised his fist and knocked. “Callus?” 

Pin darted a startled glance at the door to his room. “Wait - you mean that’s _your_ room?” she exclaimed in a low voice. “I had no idea!”

“Who is it?” called a voice from the room. It sounded muffled and dull.

Fenris glanced at Pin before he cleared his throat and answered. “Fenris, and Pin. We’ve brought you food. I ...I want to talk.” 

“Fa.... Fenris?” replied the muffled voice after some moments of silence. There was a shuffling sound, and then the door opened. “Come in,” Callus said dully as he hung back in the darkened room. He turned and slowly made his way toward the bed.

In the shadowy half-light of the room, Fenris could see that Callus looked unkempt and frankly unwell. He was dressed in sleep pants, a blanket draped around himself; his hair was greasy and unbrushed, and the room stank of unwashed body and musty bedclothes. As Fenris glanced around, he realised the room was a mess. It wasn’t as bad as he remembered Hal’s room once being - but there was detritus everywhere.

“May we light candles… son?” Fenris asked as he cleared a space for the tray and set it down. He wanted to tug Callus to his arms but was still fearful of being pushed away. He poured wine for the younger elf and offered it to him. 

Callus glanced up at Fenris at being called his son; his eyes were haunted, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He glanced at the glass, then hesitantly took it. “Th-thank you... Fe... F-f-father,” he finally managed.

“You’re welcome son.” Fenris said as he approached and sat on the bed with his son. “Can we talk? I don’t like finding you like this, it’s...it’s not good,” he said quietly as he dared to look the younger elf in the eye, finding his son’s gaze almost fearful. 

Callus stared at Fenris miserably, uncertain and afraid. “I’m sorry, Father,” he whispered.

“As am I son,” Fenris said as he tugged at the younger elf’s free hand to pull him into a hug. “Please?” he asked just as fearfully as the young man had been.

Callus gave an odd little gasp, a choked sob, and then abruptly collapsed into Fenris’ embrace, shuddering as he suddenly dissolved into tears. Pin cast him a worried glance as she moved silently around the room, carefully setting things to rights and tidying as quietly as possible.

Fenris held Cal close, reassuring him quietly that it was ok, things would be well between them. He was discomfited to see his child hurting so badly but he was determined to make it right. “It’s ok, it’s ok. I still love you son, it's alright, Cal,” he repeated as he held the younger elf as he sobbed and shook. As Callus’ sobs slowly eased and the young man rested against him, limp and ennervated, he noticed how hot the younger elf felt to the touch. 

Fenris closed his eyes and rested a hand over his son’s forehead as he tried to concentrate on what was making him so warm. He frowned as he found the source of his son’s illness and focused on that as he attempted to heal the younger elf. 

“You’ve made yourself very sick Cal. How long have you been hiding in here?” he asked his son as he worked, the glow of healing magic contrasting against the soft glow from his markings. 

“Not sure,” mumbled Cal as he lay there limply, his head in his father’s lap. “Felt ill in the sparring ring... couldn’t concentrate. Too hot, head aching. Krem shouted. Came back here.” He shivered. “Cold. Can’t seem to get warm. _Pater? Pater ... ut sentio infirmum ...._ ”

Pin paused in the act of tidying up pieces of leather armour to turn and stare at her brother with an expression of clear worry as Cal continued to murmur in half-articulated Tevene. Setting the leather cuirass in her hands aside, she picked her way across the room to kneel in front of her father and brother, resting her hand gently on Cal’s arm as it draped limply off the edge of the bed. 

“Cal? Cal?” she asked softly. If Cal were capable of hearing her in his delirium, he gave no sign of it. She looked up at her father. “No wonder he fell to pieces,” she sighed.

Fenris frowned again as he heard his son’s muttering. “ _Hic ego, fili mi; ut bene sit tibi_ ,” he replied quietly as he tried to ease his illness. 

“Pin, go next door and ask whoever answers to start a cool bath and for healing potions. I’m not a healer, I can barely control my magic but I do know how to break a fever. If Anders answers, then we’ll see what he can do for him. Unless you wish to try and I start the bath?” He turned to his daughter, worry for Callus showing in how he kept going.

“Help me lay him out in the bed and I’ll do what I can for him,” answered Pin.

Together they managed to lift Callus up and lay him gently in bed, and Pin sat on the edge, taking one of Callus’ hands in hers as she lay her other hand on his forehead and called up healing spirits to aid her.

Fenris stood there watching, fidgeting as he waited to see what would happen with Callus. He wanted to go next door and get someone but he knew Pin was a capable healer. “I’m scared Pin,” he finally said as he watched them. 

“I know, Father,” she answered gently, her eyes closed. “But I’ll do all I can.” 

There was a knock at the door, startling Fenris. Crossing to it, he opened the door to find Anders staring at him, clearly startled to find the door answered by his own husband.

“I felt healing magic - I came to see if someone needed my help, but... Fenris...?” Anders was confused.

“I was trying to heal Callus, but I couldn’t. Pin is helping him, she’s a good healer, I’m not. Callus is very sick, I couldn’t help him. I did this to him, it’s Hal again...he’s burning with fever and has been next to us all this time and I didn’t know,” Fenris said in a rush as he let his husband in. 

“What do you mean it’s Hal a-” Anders broke off as he was ushered in hastily by Fenris, then stopped still to look around at the half-tidied mess. “Maker.” He glanced to the bed where Pin was bent over her brother, eyes closed; the ethereal little glowing lights of healing wisps floated around her. 

Anders rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and moved to join her on the other side of the bed, eyes studying Cal clinically as the young man tossed feverishly on the bed. The healer reached for Callus’ free wrist and he frowned as he checked his pulse.

“It’s some form of contagion I’ve not encountered before, Master,” said Pin in a hushed voice.

Anders hmmed as he closed his eyes and sank his awareness into Callus’ form. “Fenris, I’m not sure if this room has a bathing chamber - would you please start a bath running in the one in ours? I don’t want to move Callus as far as the infirmary, and we need to get this fever down.”

“Of course...I asked Pin, then I asked her to heal him when I failed but I couldn’t help him, Anders,” Fenris said quietly as he looked between his daughter and husband. 

Anders was silent for a few moments, then opened his eyes and glanced up at Fenris. “ _Now_ , love,” he chided gently. Then he closed his eyes, losing himself deeply in healing.

“Alright.” Fenris turned to go and ran into Invictus who’d just come to see what was going on. 

“Fen, I’m really glad you weren’t running yet - ow....” Vic said as the elf darted around him to start a bath in the room they shared. Invictus turned to see Anders bent over someone before noticing Pin. 

“What’s happened?” he said as he rubbed his chest lightly.

She straightened and looked up at her step-father, healing wisps still darting around her. “It’s Cal - he’s sick, and I’m not sure what it is. Master Anders is helping him, but... it’s serious, Uncle Vic. I’m really worried - and I think Father is scared.” She looked worried as she spoke. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Father like this before, except when Hal -” She broke off. 

“I’ve seen him like this and he’s going to spiral badly until and after Cal is better,” Vic sighed as he looked around the room to notice the mess. “Once we get Cal into that bath, can you request that his room be thoroughly cleaned? I’ll take that tray to our room, and I can help carry him.” 

“Oh no,” murmured Anders softly. “No, not good....”

“Master?” exclaimed Pin, turning towards him wide-eyed. “Master, what is it? What’s wrong with my brother?”

Anders made no answer; if he’d heard her, he gave no sign of it.

“Anders, what’s the matter?” Vic asked as he approached but didn’t touch his husband. He looked to his step-daughter in worry. 

Anders was deep in a healing trance; he was murmuring to himself very softly. Vic had to lean in closer to catch fragments, and what he heard chilled him.

“... seen this before... not good... burn it, burn everything....” And then the word that struck dread into his heart. “Plague.”

“Plague? There is no way he could have that, Anders! He hasn’t been around… anyone with it. No, it can’t be that. He’ll...he won’t make it and that will kill Fenris. Be wrong love, please, please, _please_ be wrong!” Vic begged as he looked to Pin.

Pin’s eyes were wide and she’d gone pale. “Uncle Zevran said there was a merchant arrived just a couple of days ago, didn’t he?” she gasped. “He mentioned it to me when I saw him in the courtyard then - the merchant wagon train must have only just arrived.”

“And we have no idea where he is or how many people he’s come in contact with. Send a message to Krem right now. We need to find that merchant and get him away from everyone. Though if he’s carrying it, it could be too late. Go, Pin, right now!” Vic said as he stared at his step-son and husband, terrified of what this could mean.

Pin leapt up and ran from the room, ashen-faced.

Anders had fallen silent, still lost within the work of healing, oblivious to Vic’s presence.

“Maker, Mythal, Dumat please let him find a way to heal Callus. Fenris will break for good if he loses his son,” Vic prayed as he took a seat and watched Anders work. He sat there until the older elf returned, concerned when they hadn’t brought Callus in for the bath he’d run.

“What’s wrong? It’s worse than a fever, isn’t it?” he asked as he watched Anders and Callus, fear making him approach until Vic grabbed his hand.

Anders lifted his head his head and gazed sightlessly in his direction, his focus so fully within Callus’ fever-ridden form that he was unable to focus on them; it wasn’t clear if he were even fully aware of who might be in the room with him. “Declare a quarantine,” he said, his voice distant. “Let none enter or leave Skyhold. Someone bring Parcival to me, but do not let him enter the room.” He bowed his head again, closing his eyes once more.

“Quarantine? What is happening to him, Anders?” Fenris demanded as he pulled against Invictus. “What is wrong with my son?!” he asked again. But if Anders heard him, he gave no sign; it were as if he had no awareness of anything other than the contagion at work in Callus’ body. Sweat beaded his brow, much as it did that of Callus.

“Love, calm down. It seems that merchant has brought the plague with him. Callus is showing signs and we’ve all been exposed now. I need you to calm down and listen to us. Fall apart later, but for now Fenris? You have to be calm and listen to what Anders needs of us. Can you do that?” Vic asked quietly.

Fenris turned to face him, his face pale and his expression haunted. “I can’t lose him Vicky. I can’t. I’ve been in a world where Cal died and I can’t lose him.”

Vic tugged him down so they were facing each other and held the elf’s face in his hands. “This is bigger than Cal, than us. Anders won’t let him go if he can do anything - you know that. But if the whole fortress is infected, we could all die. I’ve seen the plague work on whole villages, Fenris. I need you to listen, or I’m going to put you to sleep until you can do what’s needed. I know you’re scared for Cal but you have to listen to whatever Anders needs, alright?” 

“Alright,” Fenris said quietly before leaning forward and hugging Invictus. “I’m sorry,” he added softly.

There was silence in the room as Anders worked and they watched, the silence broken only by Callus’ faint moans and murmurings. Finally Anders stirred, lifting a hand to press it against his own forehead as he opened his eyes, blinking; the room seeming over-bright after his eyes having been closed and his focus so subsumed in his work. He lifted his head and looked around, still blinking and disoriented as he pulled himself out of awareness of Callus’ body. He seemed surprised and almost confused to find Fenris and Vic both staring at him.

“What... Fen? Vic?” he said tiredly. “What... what time is it?” 

“No idea love, you’ve been working on Callus for a while. You asked us to call for a quarantine - so it’s plague then?” Vic said as he held Fenris close to him. “How long until we all start showing signs?” 

Anders hung his head, clearly exhausted. “Maker, I wish I were wrong, but I’ve seen this before. Yes... it’s plague, I’m afraid. I don’t know how long ago he contracted it, but I don’t think it’s too far advanced, and he’s a healthy, fit young man so I think his chances are good. But yes, the whole fortress needs to be quarantined. As for how long... it could be anywhere from a day or two to a couple of weeks. Some might be fortunate and have some natural immunity to it; I think I’ll be alright, because I’ve come in contact with it before.” A bleak look came into his eyes, and Vic realised that Anders must have lost patients to plague before. “It’s people from places like Tevinter and the north who will be most at risk - places that rarely or never see the plague, or not this strain of it.”

“What can I do? I’ve … been around it as well. Fenris may well be at risk, as well as Pin. Definitely Dorian if he’s been around at all. What do you need love? Fenris, I think you need to stay in here with Cal and Pin when she returns. That way you can be with your son, will that help you stay calm?” Vic asked quietly.

“Yes Invictus,” Fenris answered quietly, before pulling away to join Cal. “Can you have someone leave a tub and other things so I can get him cleaned up? Lying in these sheets won’t help,” the elf said quietly.

“Our rooms are spacious,” replied Anders. “Becky had two double beds put in each room that could be pushed together so we could all spend a night together if we so wished. We’ll move Cal into the room next door, have a cot brought in for Pin, and you and I will stay in that room together, Fenris - I want to be close by to look after Cal and be on hand if you or Pin go down with it.” He glanced at Vic. “And you can stay with Zevran, Vic.”

“Shouldn’t you see if he’s come down with it yet? Wasn’t this merchant the one who he was going to travel with to Denerim before?” Vic said quietly as he watched Fenris stroking Cal’s head gently. 

Anders turned pale. “Sweet Andraste,” he breathed. “And he near-fainted this morning.”

“Let’s get Cal into that bath, and then leave Fenris for a bit so he can calm down,” Vic said quietly as he rose and looked for clean clothes for his step son. “I’m worried for Fen, he was going to pieces before you said it was plague,” he whispered.

“Oh fuck,” murmured Anders. “I was talking whilst healing, wasn’t I? I don’t even remember doing that; I certainly had no idea who was in the room with me, I was so far gone in healing. That was _not_ how I wanted to break the news to him.” He looked chagrined.

“Yeah you said things when healing and he almost crumbled. Luckily you didn’t hear him demanding to know what was wrong. I sent Pin to tell Krem and Meneris, hopefully she’ll be back soon,” Vic said as he gathered clean clothes and a couple of books for Callus once he was awake. “Here, carry his things and I’ll go heat the bath if Fen will bring him.” 

They moved Callus and his things next door, Fenris carrying his son carefully in his arms, staring down at him anxiously. Vic drew a lukewarm bath for Callus; and as Fenris gently bathed his son, Anders and Vic rearranged the furniture so the two beds now stood apart. Vic stuck his head out of the room to ask for a cot to be brought in, as Anders disappeared into the other room to check on Zevran. 

Vic looked up to see Pin returning, Parcival, Krem and Meneris following behind her. Parcival stopped short and flung his arms up to keep Meneris and Krem from following.

“It’s plague then?” asked Parcival without preamble. “I’d had my suspicions. A merchant who arrived two days ago was brought in to the infirmary this morning, along with several others from his retinue - all with fever.” 

“Yes, Fenris’ son has come down with it as well. We’re not sure when he would have had contact with the merchant or his people. Anders caught it early but until we can figure out how many people are exposed or at risk, a quarantine is in effect. I’ve… I’ve seen the plague before, and I can help in the infirmary or helping people pass peacefully if it’s too late,” Vic said with a haunted look. 

Fenris hadn’t turned away from sitting with Callus, his focus just on his son and how small, pale and sick he looked. He heard them but there wasn’t much he could do for anyone. 

“I’ve set up a quarantine ward in the infirmary already,” said Parcival. “Only mages and auxiliary healers who have encountered the plague before are allowed to set foot inside. I’ll order this floor of the guest wing to be likewise quarantined.”

“The gates are barred and locked,” added Krem. “No-one goes in or out. Anyone reporting with so much as a sniffle will be quarantined away from the rest of the barracks until a healer can clear them or orders them kept in quarantine. And we’ll have the rest of that merchant’s train inspected first.”

“Alright, can you have food sent up and also ask who brought Callus a tray earlier so they can be quarantined. I’ve been exposed to the plague as has Anders so we can help in the ward if needed.” Vic replied.

“Pin and I brought him a tray, the staff in the kitchen didn’t catch this from us. I’ve...I’ve not been around the plague so I expect I’ll fall to it soon enough.” Fenris said as he brushed hair away from Callus’ face. 

Anders stepped out into the hall from the other room and leaned against the wall, his head lowered for a moment before he glanced up. His eyes met those of Vic, and with a bleak expression he nodded once before turning to return to the other room.

“I hope this can be contained quickly and dealt with. Someone should check on Dorian, since he wouldn’t have been exposed to it in Tevinter or since he’s been here. Anyone particularly infirm, old or children should have an eye kept on them as well,” Vic said with a sigh. “Dumat, what else is going to happen to us?”

Parcival glanced to Meneris. “Did your people ever come in contact with the plague?” he asked with a faint frown. “I know some Dalish clans have, but I’m afraid I have no idea which ones, nor how devastating it may be amongst elves. I know dwarves have an immunity to it.”

“Not while I was there, we avoided humans - well, like... you know,” Meneris finished with a glance to the others. “I’ll tell Dorian we’re quarantined as well.” 

Pin was watching and listening with a troubled expression. “Master Parcival, the mages....”

Parcival sighed. “Yes, that’s my other headache right now,” he confessed. “Those of us who were apostates all our lives and grew up in Ferelden or Orlais will probably be alright - many of us will have encountered plague before; at least, the older ones will. But those who grew up in the old Circles will have no immunity; the Circles were already effectively quarantined. I have no idea how many of our mages here came from Circles. And that’s to say nothing of any of the visiting researchers; Varania and Maevaris are both from Tevinter so they’ll be vulnerable.”

“ _Venhedis_ , this is going to be a mess,” Vic said tiredly. “Once we get everyone here settled I’ll come to the quarantine ward and assist Parcival. I think Anders will want to stay with Zevran if the look he gave me was any indication of him having come down with it. Please send some good wine and some food that we can keep in the room so there’s minimal exposure to anyone else.” 

Fenris had taken a seat in the chair next to where Callus had fallen asleep. He glanced up at them but kept silent, his own gaze worried for what would happen to them all. 

Pin had given a small, unhappy gasp at Vic’s words. “Oh no - Ellowynne will be so upset to learn that Master Zevran is ill as well!” she exclaimed. “That means -” She broke off. “ _Vishante kaffas._ Ellowynne grew up in the Circle. That means she won’t be allowed to set foot in the guest wing, not even to visit her father.” She glanced to Parcival. “First Enchanter, Marian was an apostate, much as yourself - may she be allowed to visit us? If she’s encountered plague before? I... I understand if she can’t.” She looked unhappy at the thought of being kept apart from her wife.

“I’ll check and see if she and Garrett were ever exposed to the plague,” replied Parcival. “If they’re safe, then Marian may stay with you, and Garrett can pass on messages to Ellowynne.”

“Alright then, let’s get ourselves together and I’ll come to the ward later if that’s alright Parcival?” Vic asked tiredly. 

“Actually, things are quiet there for the moment, Invictus,” replied Parcival. “It looks like with two of your people sick, you’re more needed here at present, particularly with both Pin and Fenris exposed and vulnerable. Send word if you need to have any of my healers help attend or if anything else arises. I have the unhappy feeling all our resources will be taxed all too soon.” He sighed, then with a nod to them all he, Meneris and Krem returned back up the hall, leaving Vic and Pin alone.

“Uncle Vic... I can sit with my father and Cal,” Pin said quietly. “You should go see Uncle Zevran and Master Anders. I think he needs you.”

“Alright, I don’t like it but alright.” Vic replied before heading into the other room, worried for how bad off Anders would be with Zevran ill as well. He entered to find Anders sitting in the chair beside the bed, cradling one of the Antivan’s hands in both his own, watching Zevran’s face as the elf slept. As Vic paused in the doorway, Anders glanced at him over his shoulder and gave him a sad smile.

“Hello, love,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be a long night.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more to disbanding the Inquisition than making a proclamation from a throne, as Leto is discovering. Zevran returns to a familiar old role, and Anders finds an unfamiliar new one.

Leto had kept Anders to himself in his quarters for three days after the attempt on their lives, quietly working with Josephine to start dismantling the Inquisition. He didn’t argue with anything the Ambassador suggested or even when she handed him a stack of letters and agreements to read over so he could understand the weight of what he’d set in motion. His quiet acceptance was worrisome to anyone who knew Leto prior to his adventure. Some might have called him docile in seeing how he resigned himself to whatever Josephine set before him. That quietness worked on her nerves, enough that she wondered what was wrong with him. 

Anders looked up from the document he was reading to frown slightly; he leaned forward to reach for one of the treaty documents Josephine had just laid on the desk then grimaced as the incautious movement pulled at his stitches. Wordlessly she passed it to him and he nodded his thanks; she pursed her lips then gave Leto a meaningful look before glancing back to him. He shook his head warningly, then glanced at the treaty document in his hand.

“How is Zevran getting on with questioning that assassin, Josie?” asked Anders, not looking up from the document. “The one he hit with his knife?”

“He assured me he was working most diligently on the man and that he would send word when he had word to send,” sniffed Josephine. “I do not like it that he is back to such work again, and in the Rookery too! But what can I do? He is single-minded and stubborn, and he insists on working there.”

“I thought the Rookery was off limits due to the Veil being thin?” Leto asked as he continued to scan over a document for the Inquisitions’ liability for ending their accords with certain Tevinter groups. 

“The chamber that Dorian found has been sealed off, and wards placed upon it by those few Inquisition mages with an affinity for such things; they assured me that the thinness appears to be continuing to heal, though they still can give me no explanation for why or how this came to be. But the prison cells are still there, and I suppose the very reputation of the place and what Zevran is known to have done before is of use to Zevran in eliciting a response from the man,” she replied. 

“Hopefully he can get answers quickly and we can move forward then,” Leto said distractedly before setting the document aside and rubbing his eyes. “I need a break, we’ve been at this for hours and I’m getting a headache,” he muttered. 

Josephine gathered up the stack of papers already signed and affixed with the Inquisitor’s seal and nodded to him. “I shall return later this afternoon after these have all been dispatched then,” she replied before leaving them alone, the door swinging closed behind her.

Anders tossed the two documents back onto the table then slumped back in the chair, briefly pressing one hand against the healing wound. “Leto... it worries me that Zevran has gone back down there. The thinness in the Veil may be repairing itself but it’s not good for Zevran to be down there, just the same. Maker only knows how being down there will be working on his mind.”

Leto glanced up at his lover then sighed. “I’ll have someone check on him before I take a nap. I’ve always hated reading even after I learned and those are some of the densest, dryest things I’ve ever laid eyes on. I wasn’t just saying I’ve got a headache, they really strained me. How did you manage all this when you were in charge?” he asked. 

Anders shrugged. “Didn’t exactly have much choice,” he replied. “Whenever Justice sensed my attention and stamina might be flagging, he drove me on - both here, and before, back in Kirkwall. In time, I guess I just became conditioned to keep going no matter how I felt physically. And when I reached the point of utter exhaustion - or when I refused - he would simply take over. He was doing that more and more, towards the end. I can still remember times when it was mostly me, but those become fewer towards the end, and there were sometimes months, I think, when I was either dreaming or else just shut away. I could only guess, based on the documents he allowed me to see - and the colour of the foliage outside.” He gave Leto a sad smile. “I guess now I just don’t recognise when my body is telling me to stop.”

“We’ll have to work on that. In fact, if you can make it back upstairs, I’d like it if we could take a nap together, love,” Leto said as he got to his feet, twisting his neck to work the kink out. 

Anders got to his feet, stiff after barely moving in several hours; he groaned quietly as he leaned on the edge of the desk and pressed against the ache in his ribs for a moment. “I’ll be damned glad when the last of the magebane is out of my system and I can call up more than a mere wisp,” he admitted. “There must have been enough of that stuff to fell an ox-sized mage, I swear.” He straightened up, still stiff. “Love, it bothers me that Zevran is down in that butcher’s den. I’d appreciate it if we could go check on him after our nap - please?”

“Only because you asked. I’m not in the mood to have someone else try to take my head off today. Though the way it hurts, I might be grateful,” Leto said as he gently placed his hand over Anders’ and tried to help him. “I’m not good at healing but maybe this will help.” 

Anders leaned into the touch with a thankful sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to complain,” he murmured. “Better that they hit me than you; I’m still better able to tolerate magebane poisoning than you - remember the ambush in Emprise du Lion, when those Venatori took you down with that dart? Maker, I think that was one of the few occasions when Vengeance and I were completely of one accord - couldn’t take those bastards down for either of our liking fast enough.”

“I can’t forget that, much as I’d like to. I don’t know what about magebane affects me so. It wasn’t as bad as soldier’s bane when ...when someone tried to poison me with it,” Leto said quietly, taking the moment to concentrate on healing his lover. 

“I was dosed on the stuff often enough back in my Circle days - usually when they were dragging me back from an escape attempt, and of course during my year in solitary - that I guess I just built up a tolerance,” shrugged Anders. “Doesn’t mean I enjoyed waking up effectively in solitary again and dosed to the eyeballs on the bloody stuff after Fenris and the others released me from possession, mind you. But starving myself a couple of days soon cleared it out of my system.”

“What did you do after it was out of your system? I’m guessing they wouldn’t just stop putting in your food,” Leto asked as he pulled his hand away but slipped an arm around the blond mage to help him up to their room. 

“Oh, that was Fenris,” replied Anders. “When he learned about the magebane he was pretty angry; he ordered it stopped and brought me food himself. And of course after the templars tried to kill me, he had me moved. To the room just the other side of the gate from yours, as it happens. It wasn’t long after that when he took Zevran, Dorian and I and we left to come back with him to his Thedas. Gets a bit hazy around then though; I guess that’s when the Calling started really getting to me.”

“He actually helped you… I’m surprised,” Leto said as he walked them to the stairs. “Their commander left his quarters to utter disrepair, I can’t understand it,” the elf added as he followed Anders up. 

“What do you wish to do once the Inquisition is done and we can go? Unless you’d rather we ask to keep Skyhold as our home? It's what their Inquisitor did in that other world,” Leto asked as he started to pull his clothes off.

“No. No, I don’t want to stay here,” replied Anders with a shudder. “There was too much evil done in this place, and I was far too much a part of that. I want to get as far away from here as I possibly can once we’re free of this Inquisition business.” He was slowly peeling off his shirt as he spoke; he was silent for a moment afterwards, as he slowly balled up the shirt in his hands, looking deep in thought as he stood there in just his pants, his torso swathed in white linen bandages still. He finally looked up and fixed Leto with a keen look. “Leto... what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice softer, gentler. “You’ve been very quiet... and rather unlike you. Tame and docile, almost - which are words I would never have thought to ascribe to _you_ , of all people. What is it?”

“What _isn’t_ wrong, you mean?” the elf asked as he crawled into bed and flopped on his back with a wince. “I need to atone for what I’ve done - much as I hate it? Josephine was right when she laid into me so I’m not going to fight back. Whatever is required to make things right is what I’ll do with no complaints. Then we can go our way once things are dismantled. Does it matter if I’m docile, really?” 

Anders stared down at the crumpled shirt in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said reflexively. “I... it was worrying me. It’s not like you to be so meek like this and... and I....” He turned and tossed the shirt towards the hamper, then climbed into bed and sighed. “I guess not,” he finally finished, a little subdued.

“I’m sorry love, I wasn’t upset with you. I’m just...tired,” Leto said as he watched Anders approach their bed. 

Anders lay on his back and gazed at the ceiling. “I was just worried for you, love,” said Anders quietly.

“I know Anders, I know. I’m feeling vulnerable, raw and confused. It's just easier to be quiet and take what I’ve earned from them. I didn’t mean to worry you,” Leto said as he reached out and laid an arm over Anders, needing the contact to settle himself. 

Anders placed a hand on Leto’s arm and patted it lightly, ignoring the dull ache still lingering in his side as he closed his eyes. “As long as I know you’re alright, that’s all that matters to me,” he said softly.

“You’re more important, love. I’ll survive, it's what I do right? I mean losing Callus didn’t kill me, so this won’t either.” Leto laughed but it was a strained sound before he turned to his side and tried to hide how much it still hurt to think on his son’s death. He kept quiet as they laid there, unable to sleep but he didn’t have it in him to speak further. 

Anders winced inwardly at Leto’s words and the tone of his voice. Callus’ death had come during one of those blank periods in his memory. Perhaps he might not have been capable of healing the young man - but he would never know. Vengeance might have refused to allow him to heal Callus for its own reasons. Still, he couldn’t quell the surge of guilt he felt at the pain in Leto’s voice. He lay still, eyes closed, also unable to sleep though he allowed his breathing to slow and deepen.

They laid there for hours, Leto not sleeping deeply which let him hear the knocking on his office door. He sat up, barely gathering up his staff before seeing who it was. “Who is it?”

“It is Josephine, Inquisitor,” came the Antivan ambassador’s familiar voice. “I have returned so that we can continue.”

Anders stirred slightly and opened his eyes; he struggled to sit up as he glanced around for Leto. He’d finally slipped into a light doze over the past half an hour but such a short nap when he was still healing had only served to make him feel groggy thanks to the magebane still in his system.

Leto let her in and waved at his desk before turning to get dressed. “Apologies, we took a nap and I’m still tired. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a moment.” 

He returned to the bedroom to find Anders sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand wrapped around his midriff to press against his side as he rubbed sleep from his eyes with the other hand. “Back to the grindstone then?” he asked. 

“Why don’t you keep sleeping? I can get a couple more hours in and then I’ll have dinner sent for. I know you didn’t rest, Anders,” Leto said as he pulled his tunic back on and found thick socks as a concession to how chilly his office had gotten while they pretended to sleep. 

Anders shook his head. “No, I’ll come down,” he replied as he got to his feet and made his way to the wardrobe to look for a clean shirt from the bundle of clothes Fenris’ Anders had gifted him. “I may as well make myself useful; after all, with two of us to look over the paperwork for you, it’s less for you to do and all you have to worry about is signing things, really. And as you say, I’m used to doing this work. You’ve been Inquisitor barely three days now, after all. Consider this my own penance, of sorts.”

“You don’t need to do penance, it's _my_ burden, love,” Leto said as he went down the stairs and helped Anders into a chair before getting back to the paperwork Josephine had set before them. He was quiet once more, reading over things where she had pointed out passages that needed more attention than others; signing when needed or passing things to Anders if he needed clarification.

Josephine had given Anders an almost piercing look at mention of penance, but merely moved on with the paperwork, handing several documents directly to Anders. The blond mage accepted them without a word and began working through them, making corrections in several with deft, sure strokes of his quill before passing them to Leto to sign.

Several of the papers before Leto had originally been drawn up when the Inquisitor had first signed treaties with various powers, and Leto was suddenly struck with the small differences between the handwriting on them and the corrections Anders was making; Anders’ handwriting was more graceful and delicate, unlike the firm and more angular script that he had been long familiar with. It occurred to him that he had no way of knowing what Anders’ writing had been like before Endrin Hawke’s untimely death; all the examples of the blond healer’s writing he’d ever seen had been marked by that angular harshness of script.

Leto glanced down at his own writing, frowning at how tight, yet more of a scrawl it was even with years of practice. He never learned to love writing or reading after learning how, and if not for his role in the Inquisition he’d do as little as he could have gotten away with. It wouldn’t have helped his penmanship, poor as it currently was. He glanced back at what he was reviewing instead so he couldn’t be drawn into darker thoughts while they had so much to do. He sighed as he was handed another contract with notes and started to read. 

“There has been no news on the second assassin’s whereabouts, but Zevran has sent word that there was only one other assassin. He is still questioning the first assassin however, and is still below the Rookery,” remarked Josephine, conversationally, as she leafed through the stack of papers before her before placing another one in front of Leto. “Sign here, and here - and also there is a place on the third page which needs your signature.”

“Yes, I will go check on him when we’re done. The plan had been to do so after our nap but you arrived,” Leto replied as he signed where she indicated before passing back and letting Anders hand him another document. 

“I _did_ say I would return this afternoon,” Josephine reminded him. “But there is not so much paperwork for you to do now as there was this morning.”

Anders had glanced up at her mention of Zevran, but said nothing. He took another document and started scanning through it, comparing it to another in his hand and frowning as he made a few notes and corrections before passing them both back to Josephine. “There’s a conflict there - signing that clause would be a direct conflict of interest as regards the treaty signed two years ago with Duke Arangall of Orlais,” he pointed out. “That treaty won’t be nullified by the disbanding of the Inquisition either; it would put Ferelden in a rather awkward spot however.”

Josephine took back the document and studied it, frowning. “You are right!” she exclaimed.

“A new treaty would have to be signed and ratified both by the Duke and by the Ferelden Crown in lieu of a functioning Inquisition,” Anders went on. “If Leto signs that paper, it would cause a diplomatic incident and possibly war.” He smiled thinly. “It’s a good job that’s from one of the periods I can actually remember and not one of the times I was... ah... absent.”

Josephine regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then took back the sheaf of papers in front of Leto and the ones in Anders’ hands. “I shall take all of these back to my office and have my staff go over them very thoroughly to make sure there are no more diplomatic issues or conflicts, Inquisitor. My apologies; this should not have happened!”

“No worries Josephine, this was thrust upon you with little warning. I will come to see you after the ninth bell if I may?” Leto said as he looked away, pretending to be focused on putting things away in his desk. 

“Of course, Inquisitor. And thank you for catching that error, Anders - it is very fortunate that you are helping Leto,” she replied. Anders smiled self-consciously and shrugged as he dropped his gaze.

“Just glad I insisted on getting up again,” he said quietly. “And glad I can be of use to people.”

“You’re worth more than that Anders, don’t sell yourself short,” Leto said as he glanced at his lover. “Let me get into armor and then we can check on Zevran before dinner.” 

Josephine nodded to them both in farewell before departing. 

Anders sat back in his chair and looked up again. “I don’t like being idle, love; maybe I did once, long ago - but I’m not that man anymore, just as I’m not the one I was whilst possessed. And sitting by doing nothing when I could be of use to someone chafes.”

“I apologize, I was not trying to suggest you sit idle love. More that you have more to offer than dull paperwork. Do you have any other clothes or your former Inquisitor gear? I don’t like the idea of you walking around in regular clothes,” Leto said as he headed up to their room. 

Anders dropped his gaze to the floor. “I should imagine all my old clothes and Inquisitor armour are still in my old quarters,” he said carefully, his voice neutral. “As I understand it, Fenris ordered them sealed closed and no-one was to set foot in there without his direct order - which means _your_ order. No-one would stop you if you entered - or if you ordered the guards to bring my things here.” He stared at a crack in one of the wooden floorboards near his feet and tried not to imagine what the reaction of the guards might be to such a request... or to the sight of him walking around Skyhold in his Inquisitor armour once more.

“We can get something for you to wear that has to be a middle ground between regular clothes and that armored get up you used to wear. I’m going to take us right into your quarters, I know them well enough to use that trick I was taught and then back here. It is _useful_ I suppose,” Leto said with a smile before offering Anders his hand. 

Anders accepted the hand up from the chair and gave Leto a strained smile. “There’s probably something,” he agreed. “Though _he_ was quite fond of the armour. If a spirit can be said to be fond of anything. I suppose the effect it had on people was what he liked, really. I must confess though, that armour would probably have about half the people in Skyhold shitting their pants if they see me wearing it, particularly if I walk down to the cells below the Rookery in that.”

“It might be worth it to smile again, but I’d rather not make you more of a target than you already are. If we could hide in your old rooms, I’d rather be there than where anyone can find us,” Leto looked up with a grim smile before pulling Anders close and taking them to his former rooms. 

Anders gasped as Leto’s quarters and office disappeared and they were wrenched through the Fade, and then had to clamp a hand over his mouth before he could scream as they emerged in total darkness. It took him a moment before his eyes adjusted enough to the gloom to realise that the heavy thick curtains had been drawn over all the windows; a very nasty moment in which he clutched hard at Leto’s tunic and tried not to hyperventilate. Even so, it wasn’t until he had called up a small wisp of light that he felt able to step away from Leto and lower his hand from his mouth, and his heart was still racing a little as he looked around.

“O-open the curtains, love?” he asked, and hated the way his voice shook a little. _Damn it. You’d think after years of spending months at a time in the darkness of my own mind I’d have gotten used to the dark by now..._ he thought to himself.

Leto did as he was asked, then sat on the bed, quiet as he let Anders adjust to returning to the quarters that in one sense he’d been in for years yet in another sense were unfamiliar to the blond mage who had so rarely seen them in his right mind. 

Anders stared around at the mess left by the fight against Vengeance - when those guards still loyal to the Inquisitor had fought against those who were loyal to Josephine, Zevran and to Leto himself. There were patches of dried blood here and there, scorch marks on the carpets - and a rather large patch of dried blood in the centre of the room, beside a greatsword whose blade was still covered in dried blood.

He walked over to the patch of blood, then toed the sword as he rubbed a hand across his chest.

“I died here,” he said, his voice subdued.

“So it seems, I never got a chance to ask them what exactly happened during the fight with Vengeance and - well, we know what happened upon our return. Do you want the room cleaned, love? Or do you need some time?” Leto asked quietly.

Anders dropped to a crouch and put a hand down to touch the dried blood; the carpet felt rough and spiky beneath his hand. He glanced at the sword and shivered suddenly.

“I... woke up. To find myself being... held. By... you, I thought. There was... a sword. Someone... Zevran? Was it Zevran? He’d... run me through. It... hurt.” He could remember the pain so clearly. “I thought you’d finally released me. I hadn’t realised how much dying would hurt, I think. And then... I don’t really remember much at all until I realised I was alone. Locked away, sick with magebane, and alone. More alone than I’ve been in years... more alone than I’d ever been apart from when I spent a year in solitary, in a way, but finally able to think clearly. But... I’d died. I... I really did die....”

As Leto watched, Anders slumped to his knees, his eyes glazed, lost in memory. 

He came over and pulled the other mage into his arms, reassuring him that was past and he was safe with him. “Come back to me love, that’s done now and you’re back in your right mind. Please talk to me,” Leto asked. 

Anders gave a small gasp. “Sorry, I’m sorry - I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much of my own blood before,” he managed to get out. “It - it brought it home to me - I really did die. It’s the only way they could free me, but I still don’t understand how they were able to bring me back.” He shook his head. “Why did they bring me back?” he whispered. “Why wouldn’t they let me go?”

He drew a deep breath, pulling himself together with an effort of will. “I’m - I’ll be alright in a minute. Just a bit in shock is all. Wasn’t expecting it. I mean... I think I knew it, deep down. But it’s one thing to know... another thing to actually see the very place where you died.” He laughed disbelievingly. “Maker, it shouldn’t even be possible for me to say that! People don’t come back from the dead, after all!”

“They don’t usually, but I am grateful for however they pulled it off. Otherwise I would not have found you again Anders. I love you,” Leto said before kissing him gently on the forehead and holding him close.

“And I love you,” murmured Anders, closing his eyes as he let himself be held and feel safe for a few minutes. Then he finally lifted his head. “Alright,” he said and drew a deep breath. “I’m alive, and I’d rather like to stay that way... so let’s find something that doesn’t immediately scream ‘I’m the Inquisitor, please kill me now before I kill you all’ and some spare clothes, and then get out of here before I start screaming.”

“We could just take the whole wardrobe with us if both of us are touching I think?” Leto offered as he got up and looked around the room.

“You can do that?” exclaimed Anders as he glanced around. Ignoring the armour stand and the Inquisition armour that someone had carelessly tossed down near it, complete with the matching padding and cloak, he walked over to the wardrobe. “Are you sure? It’s pretty big,” he added dubiously. “It had to be, for all those ridiculous formal get-ups I was expected to wear. And this is only the half of it; Josie had a whole other seasonal wardrobe somewhere for me, I think. I really won’t want even a third of what’s in here.”

“As you wish, pick what you want and I’ll take us back. I’m sure I could take it, after all Dorian told me Fenris took all of you and the horses to Adamant. It's just one wardrobe within the fortress. Why don’t you leave what you want in there, and then you’ll have a place for your clothes in our room?” Leto said as he watched Anders going through outfits. 

“He did, yes, but I was a bit distracted by the feeling of being yanked one way whilst my innards went another, and I was still a bit of a state after adrenaline come-down after I rode out of the gate with my hands tied together,” replied Anders absently as he poked through the wardrobe. “Nope, won’t want that - oh, ugh, nor that! And I don’t know what on earth Josie was thinking with _that_ particular colour combination....”

Eventually Anders settled on four reasonable outfits that were chosen more for comfort and plainness than anything else. He’d come across an older, plainer set of armour made mostly of leather and quilting that Leto remembered from the early days of the Inquisition, before the more formal suits had been made, and Leto had nodded agreement to it. Everything else had been unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

“I didn’t realize you hated those clothes that much,” Leto quipped before joining Anders. “Hold my hand and leave the other one on the wardrobe. Let us hope I can pull this off.” 

Anders was better prepared this time, or perhaps he was getting used to the novel way of travelling; at any rate, this time beyond a brief hitch of his breathing he made no sound - the look of relief on his face was purely down to being out of that musty and dark room.

“Let’s see if I can remember how to put this armour on,” mused Anders. “That _is_ what you want me to wear, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I would feel better if you did,” Leto replied as he stepped back and landed on their bed a little shakily. “Maybe I should lay off doing that for a while, I feel … winded and warm.” 

Anders turned and looked at him, then frowned slightly. “Love? are you feeling alright? You look a little pale.”

“I think doing that teleportation trick is a bit much for me. My brands feel sensitive and .... a little itchy. Twice in one day not long after using that when I was worried for you in the war room? Probably more of a drain on them than usual. Let me rest while you change and I should be alright.” Leto gave him a wan smile, though he felt like he could pass out for a week. 

Anders laid the armour aside on a chair then crossed over to lean over Leto and touch his forehead with the back of his fingers. “Well, you don’t feel feverish,” he said, then lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Would you mind if I check for myself? I won’t if you think they’d react to my magic... I remember they’ve always been on the sensitive side where magic is concerned.”

“Go ahead, I don’t think I can feel much worse than I do now.” Leto closed his eyes and let Anders do whatever he needed to. “I’m sorry, I thought I knew how much I could do,” he said quietly. 

Anders settled himself on the bed next to Leto and gently took his hands, letting the merest light touch of healing magic trickle into the elf, cool and soothing as it rippled out through sore and inflamed flesh and itching, burning brands. Leto could feel the blessed relief spreading over his skin and through his body, the pain easing away until he felt himself once more, rested and healed, restored by the gentle touch of Anders’ magic. It had been so long since he’d felt it that he had almost forgotten how it felt - the only mage whose magic had never hurt him.

Vengeance had been unable to heal. Anders had not been permitted to try when Callus was dying in Leto’s arms.

Leto cut off that line of thought before he could dwell on that remembered pain again; it was still too fresh and raw, and the intervening years had done nothing to dull it. He sat up and gave Anders a thankful smile.

“The magebane has worn off at last, then?” he asked. “You called up a light wisp in the Inquisitor’s quarters, and now you can heal again?”

“So it seems,” replied Anders, leaning back on his hands as he stared up at Leto from the bed. “Not before time, either. But I’ll need you to remove these stitches before I heal myself.”

“Lie down and I’ll take care of that for you,” Leto said as he got his healing kit and the thin, sharp knife he kept for things like this. “I’ll be gentle love.” 

Anders glanced down at the knife, then stripped off his shirt and the bandages before lying back down on the bed to stare up at the ceiling, lifting his left arm up out of the way. He glanced at his wooden hand and sighed. “Yes, best you do that; this hand of mine suffices for most things but not something as delicate as this.”

“I’ve seen you do surgery Anders, you can do this and more. Just give it time.” Leto fell quiet as he deftly cut through the stitches, pulling them quickly as he could so Anders could heal himself. He sat back with a smile as he cleaned up the mess. “There you go love, I hope that’s good enough.” 

Anders pressed his flesh-and-blood hand against the scabbed and barely-closed wound as he closed his eyes and let the magic flow through him; as Leto watched, the skin smoothed over until there was barely a trace of a scar to show where the crossbow bolt had ripped open his side only a few days before.

Anders opened his eyes and sat up. “That feels a damned sight better,” he sighed. “And it’s such a relief to have my magic back.” He glanced to Leto. “I should get dressed; Zevran will be waiting, if Josie has told him we’re coming.”

“I’m not looking forward to this,” Leto admitted as he turned to face his lover. “Would you laugh if I said I was afraid to face him after he shielded me and pulled me out of the way? I don’t know why he did it and I can’t stop thinking about it. He has never done things just because, so I can only wonder what he wants from me for his actions.” 

“You won’t be alone, at least,” Anders pointed out as he dressed in the leather armour. “I have no idea what motivation he could possibly have other than to keep you alive. Isn’t that good enough reason?”

“With him? No,” Leto replied before he looked around for his staff. 

“Then ask him,” replied Anders with a shrug. “What’s the worst he could do or say?”

“I don’t know and that’s part of my fear. I want him to just go away with Dorian and let us alone. I don’t trust him saving my life, nor Dorian’s insistence he cares. I just want...to settle disbanding the Inquisition and to move on with our lives far away from here,” Leto said quietly. 

“Well, we won’t find out just by standing around here,” Anders pointed out. He handed Leto his staff, and with a heavy heart Leto followed Anders from the room.

He was keenly aware of the eyes of the guards upon Anders as they headed down from the battlements and headed across the courtyard towards the main keep; voices gave way to silence, hands strayed towards the hilts of knives or swords, or tightened upon the hafts of glaives as heads turned to watch his passing as they walked through the halls of Skyhold towards the rotunda and the Rookery. Anders appeared oblivious to the scrutiny, but Leto found himself automatically noting every possible threat as he moved up to walk at Anders’ right side - just as he had when Vengeance were still ruler of the fortress.

Anders took the stairs up to the Rookery and then crossed unerringly over to the panel in the wall that concealed the hidden stair; as the blond mage paused and glanced back at him over his shoulder, Anders’ eyes held a dazed look.

“I... know this place. These stairs. I... I’ve been here before,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Yes, you have but we don’t have to discuss that now. One of us should have our wits about us for this visit. We can be brief as possible,” Leto replied. 

Hesitantly, Anders nodded, then he turned and began to descend the stairs. As it grew darker, he called up a ball of magelight that bobbed and floated just above his head, lighting the way for them as he carried on down the stairs. From somewhere below they could hear a faint noise; as they reached the bottom of the stairs, Leto realised it was the voice of a man quietly moaning.

They emerged into the anteroom that Leto remembered from before; he’d never been allowed past this room whilst Vengeance were Inquisitor, but he remembered... back in Fenris’ Thedas, he’d followed Ellowynne to the identical rooms below the Rookery there. This room was identical to that, right down to the bottles of poisons and reagents on the shelves. But Anders carried on past the racks of weapons and stores towards the doors to the room beyond - the room the sounds were coming from. Leto could only follow as Anders pushed the doors open and went in.

They found Zevran leaning against a desk, slowly washing blood from his hands in a chipped enamel bowl; he glanced up as they entered, his eyes going first to Anders then Leto, before returning his attention to what he was doing. The groaning was coming from one of the cells that led off from the stone chamber.

“Have you learned anything else from the assassin?” Leto asked with a glance to where the groans were coming from. This room - these cells, the manacles upon the walls, the rust-coloured stains upon the floors of those cells - again, all identical to the prison cells he’d seen as he’d followed the sounds of Ellowynne’s cries. The last cell on the left, however, was occupied; a man lay slumped against the wall, chained, his face hidden as he whimpered and moaned faintly.

“There were two of them,” replied Zevran, his voice soft and toneless. “Both loyal to the previous Inquisitor. He was paid by an agent - a go-between; he does not know who ordered your deaths, and cared not. He was content merely to be taking down a traitor. He was angry that his... colleague... had tried to kill Anders. He insists that he had refused that portion of their pay. And that his only target was your head.” He smiled mirthlessly. “He also called me a knife-ear, a whore and a bastard - repeatedly - and said his second bolt would have been for me had I not hit him with my knife.”

“I see; if there’s nothing more for him to tell you make an example of him and then stay out of the dungeons. This place is still corrupted and you’ve barely escaped it's influence,” Leto said as he finally looked at Zevran. The Antivan was staring intently at Anders, who had walked over to the doors leading on to the interrogation chamber that Leto knew lay beyond this one. The blond mage lifted a hand and rested it against the door, and Leto felt a sense of dread. He knew what remained behind those warded doors - andt he knew he dared not let Anders set foot inside.

“I’ve been here before,” said Anders dazedly. “I- I remember....”

“Yes,” said Zevran quietly. “We both have. We have both been in that room often.” He had stilled, bloody water dripping from his hands, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Do not go in there, either of you!” Leto barked at them, moving to pull Anders away. 

Anders was unresisting as Leto drew him away from the doors, a look of stunned horror as he turned his head to stare at Zevran.

“You remember, then?” said the Antivan. “He let you see that much?”

Anders gazed at him, blinking, unresisting in Leto’s grasp. “I remember... fragments. Glimpses. The blood, the - the things _he_ made me do, that - that _I_ made you do....” He stared down at his hands in horror. “Maker. Oh, sweet Maker. What have I done?”

Zevran chuckled darkly. “If the Maker truly exists, he has turned his face away from this place. The Void lies beyond that door... or it would have, had we completed our work.” He tilted his head to one side. “It would be so easy to do that,” he whispered. “It is not yet too late.” His eyes finally went to Leto, and a shudder seemed to roll through him.

“I am not that man. I will not listen. I will not complete it. Let it wither and die in there; I’ll feed it no more blood - innocent or guilty. And none of my own, either.” He turned and threw the rag into the bloodied water then turned away, running a hand over his face. “I swore to Dorian that I would take up this bloody work no longer. But we must have answers before the second assassin can threaten either of you again.” 

“If he doesn’t give answers by tomorrow night, kill him and be done with this place. Or I’ll end him before giving up the mantle of Inquisitor,” Leto said as he started to push Anders towards the stairs. 

“Leto,” called Zevran quietly. “Please... stay a moment.”

“Not here, this place is evil and I want you both out of here. It makes my skin crawl,” Leto replied even as he halted and turned to the other elf. 

Zevran was standing, leaning slightly against the desk, one hand covering his eyes, his head bowed slightly. “Then... I will come with you,” the Antivan said after a moment. His voice sounded weary, past the point of exhaustion, but after a moment he pushed himself away from the desk and headed towards where Leto waited at the door to the anteroom with Anders. He was silent as he followed them up the stairs to the Rookery above.

Leto glanced at Anders before turning to face Zevran, his expression carefully blank as he waited for the other elf to speak. Anders was white-faced and shivering, his eyes haunted yet unseeing, as though he were replaying over and over in his mind those glimpses of the evils he had wrought in that interrogation room below.

Zevran glanced around the room briefly before heading over to the bed and seating himself on the edge. He sighed, then lifted his head to stare at Leto.

“I know that you do not wish to talk,” he said quietly. “You want to know why I put myself in harm’s way, endangered myself to save you, eh? And yet you are afraid of what I might answer. You think that I must have some reason for doing it, that I will hold it over you as leverage in some way, yes?”

Leto simply nodded rather than speak, as the other elf had damn near pulled his thoughts word for word from him. He glanced at Anders before dropping his gaze to the floor. Anders was staring between them both in bewilderment now, as though he had woken from a deep sleep and had no idea where he was or how he had come to be there. His eyes were still haunted, but he was no longer shivering; his mind shying away from the horrors that the rooms below had awakened in his mind - unwanted fragments of memory that were too terrible to contemplate. Zevran gave him a sympathetic glance before returning his attention to Leto.

“I do not think you will believe what I have to say... but I swear to you that what I say is the truth, Leto.” He drew a deep breath, and a look of raw, naked vulnerability finally showed upon his face as he gazed at Leto.

“I did it because... because in spite of all I suffered at your hands in this room - upon this very bed - where I sit... I loved you, though the words never passed my lips. I knew you did not love me in return; I was merely a thing to you - a killer, a useful tool. An outlet for your anger so that Dorian would not suffer. And I accepted that as my place, and was glad for that scrap of attention, because I loved you.” He drew another deep breath, his eyes flickering down to stare at the floor for a moment before forcing himself to look at Leto again, raw pain in his eyes as the next few words were dragged almost unwillingly, haltingly, from his lips, his eyes glimmering bright, his eyelashes wet as he blinked.

“And because... because a part of me... Leto, a part of me... loves you still,” he finally managed. Then he bowed his head and drew a shuddering breath.

Leto couldn’t speak; seeing Zevran cry was unnerving him as well as the elf’s admission for feeling anything for him. He had convinced himself that neither he or Dorian cared for him at all. But he knew the assassin well enough to know he spoke the truth, the anguished look on his face was not faked nor the glimmering tears that fell. He went to his knees, his own tears falling as he was forced to see the truth. 

Zevran clutched at his hair distractedly as he fought for breath, his tears dripping wetly to the floor. “I- I _l-loved_ you, and - a-and in - in spite of what... what you d-did to me....” The Antivan gasped, shuddering. “I w-would sooner d-die myself than - than see you dead!”

Anders was staring between them both, wide-eyed and at a loss, as though unsure which of them he should go to first to comfort.

“C-c- _carissimi_ ,” Zevran finally managed to stutter in a hoarse whisper, his head bowed.

“No...I don’t deserve to be called that,” Leto managed as he knelt there, broken by seeing what had lain buried in Zevran’s heart all this time. “I don’t deserve your affections, not after I’ve hurt you so much,” he whispered.

Zevran drew a shuddering breath and lifted his head to regard Leto with a sad smile. “I know that you do not return my feelings,” he said softly. “I accepted that a long time ago. And I have Dorian now... and I know he loves me, though he loved you first. He calls me _amatus_ , when it should be you who should have that honour. But you wanted to know why I put myself in harm’s way, and I owed you this truth. I am sorry that it is one that is so unwelcome to you.”

He glanced to Anders and gave the mage a sad smile as he gestured towards Leto. “Go to him; he needs you,” he said gently. “This is an old pain that I feel. I will bear it. Go to him. He needs you far more than I do.”

Leto was silent, head down as he knelt there unable to move, or speak. He’d expected hatred, anger, blackmail or all of that wrapped up in one package; but not what had been revealed. He raised his head to stare at Zevran, unsure how the other elf could still care for him after he’d abused him. “Why… how?” he finally gasped as he blinked away tears. 

Zevran glanced back to him as Anders stood there, unable to move himself. The Antivan blinked to see the wetness upon Leto’s face; he lifted a hand to touch his own cheek then stared at the moisture there before looking back at Leto a little uncertainly.

“It was... different in the beginning,” Zevran answered slowly. “And when we were away from this hellish place... we were both different men. But... the Tevinter border... the ambush, do you remember? I still bear the scar. You healed me. I knew... I knew that somewhere inside you was a good man. And... and in that other Thedas... I realised that man is still there. And I....” He shrugged, helplessly. “I was not thinking. I acted instinctively. I saw the flash of light off the head of the crossbow bolt, and I reacted. There was such fear in me but I had to save you. And I have asked myself over and over as I have hunted for the other assassin... as I tortured that man below, fearful and wanting answers, so that I might protect you all... I asked myself, over and over, ‘Zevran Arainai, why are you so set upon protecting this man?’ - I have not slept, I could only work - but the answer came to me: because I still care. I still feel for you, Leto, even though you have only hate for me in your heart; you despise me. But I do not care. Love Anders, protect him; I swear upon my life I will do the same and ask nothing of you in return.”

He bowed his head. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “You do not wish to hear this. You do not care for me; you cannot. I... understand.”

“Stop, stop stop. I don’t hate you! Stop, please,” Leto begged brokenly before he looked up with reddened eyes at his former lover. “Stop.”

Zevran’s head jerked up and he stared at Leto disbelievingly, in shock. He opened his mouth as if to speak but he was unable to make a sound. One hand lifted slightly as though in silent entreaty before Zevran checked himself then lowered it, looking ashamed. “ _M-mi dispiace_ ,” he finally managed to choke out.

“I thought you hated me, was sure of it after you realized what I’d done. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” Leto gasped as he sat and wept. “I’m sorry,” he repeated over and over. 

Zevran was visibly struggling to master himself, gulping air as he strove for control. “I asked you for it,” he rasped hoarsely. “Goaded you until you gave it to me. I used you as surely as you used me. Why should you not despise me for that?” He shook his head. “It would only be what I deserved.”

“No,” said Anders suddenly. “No... neither of you were in your right minds. You don’t deserve that, Zevran. No more than any of us do. We’ve all been wounded by this place; it’s evil, foul, and there’s still a taint all through the Veil here. You both need to get away from here, and we need to talk about this somewhere other than the Rookery.” He stared at Zevran. “Look what your hand is resting on... what you’ve been toying with as you sit there. You weren’t even aware of it, were you?”

Zevran blinked at him, lowering his hand from his hair to stare at it in bewilderment before glancing down to his other hand. He stared at the leather cuff his fingers had been mindlessly tracing as he sat there. He shuddered, then glanced up at Leto, a look of fear in his eyes for how the other elf would react.

“Can we go somewhere else? I can’t … it's hard to breathe, I feel like I’m going to faint,” Leto gasped.

“Zevran, give me a hand,” ordered Anders. The Antivan rose to his feet and obeyed; between them, they were able to get Leto to his feet. “Come on,” said Anders firmly.

Between them, they managed to get Leto down the stairs from the Rookery to the rotunda. Zevran glanced at him as though to ask where they should go; Anders jerked his head in the direction of Dorian’s rooms. 

Wordlessly, Zevran obeyed, and between them they got Leto to the door and Zevran unlocked it. Dorian glanced up as the door opened, a welcoming smile on his face that changed to shock and confusion as Leto and Anders followed his _amatus_ in.

“The bed - let him lie down and rest,” ordered Anders. “Dorian - have you any brandy? Wait, you’re with Zevran - of _course_ you have brandy....”

“Yes, it’s over there on the drinks cabinet, I - wait!” The magister looked around in bewilderment. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on??”

“Leto doesn’t hate Zevran - and Zevran told him how he’s felt for years, because Leto couldn’t work out why he risked his own life to save Leto,” replied Anders. “And now they both need a drink and Void knows I need one myself right now and I brought them here because the last thing we need is to parade Leto through the keep in this state with me giving orders to Zevran, because that will get me dead rather swiftly and I don’t want to die.” He paused, out of breath after it had all tumbled out of him in a rush. “And I think I need to sit down,” he added belatedly as he swayed, the events of the day now finally catching up to him.

Leto looked up to see Dorian and turned away so the magister couldn’t see him in such a state. “Kill me now Mythal, if you ever cared for me,” he begged quietly.

Dorian stared at him, then glanced back at Anders and wordlessly gestured to a chair before turning to pour brandy for them all. He handed full glasses to Anders and Zevran before turning to Leto and offering him the third glass.

“I do so hope Mythal will see fit to disregard your prayer, Leto; I should hate to see my _amatus_ risking his life pointlessly.”

Leto glared at him and turned away, refusing the drink. He wasn’t in the mood for Dorian’s attempt at wit. He had a headache and felt his stomach trying to rebel. 

Dorian sighed, then gestured again to Anders to sit, going so far as to guide Anders backwards to the chair with a hand on his shoulder. The blond mage sat, and cradled his brandy glass in his hands for a moment before taking a sip.

Zevran sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. He took a mouthful of his own brandy and sighed. “Do not chide please, _carissimi_ ,” he said quietly. “I have told him things that I do not think he was ready to hear, and I feel raw in consequence of what I have shared. I do not think Leto wishes your levity at this moment. Please, for the love you bear for me - for the love you once bore for _him_ \- give us a little space, a little silence?”

Dorian blinked at him, then stared at Leto again. “I think I can guess what it was you told him,” he said heavily. He turned and walked over to one of the other chairs and sat, regarding Zevran and Leto sombrely. “Don’t think I was unaware you still have feelings for Leto, _amatus_. I am not so much of a fool to imagine such depth of feeling can merely die in a moment like that - as though love were some passing whim, of no consequence. It wasn’t until Fenris opened my eyes that I realised how you felt. And I know you still dream of him.”

“Do not speak of Leto as though he is not right here beside me, Dorian,” replied Zevran quietly.

“My apologies, Leto,” said Dorian courteously. “I understand how Zevran feels. It isn’t easy to let go of love, and it isn’t something that comes easily to anyone, I think.” He glanced to Anders. “Even when the object of one’s affections is unaware of it and moves on to another,” he added. Anders coloured and ducked his head, suddenly finding the contents of his glass fascinating.

Leto kept quiet and stayed turned away, unwilling to speak with Dorian present. He wished he could have willed himself away but after teleporting earlier had made him so ill, he remained still and quiet. 

“Leto... I am sorry to have distressed you,” said Zevran in a low voice. “But I knew if I spoke anything less than the truth to you, you would not believe me. And... the thought that you should think me a liar... I could not bear that. Not when the truth meant baring myself so completely to you, far more than ever I did when you would take me to the Rookery.”

“I...I ...will be grateful for this once I am recovered somewhat. I am sorry for doubting you Zevran,” Leto said just loud enough for the other elf to hear him. “I did not expect the truth to hurt so much.” 

“And for that, I apologise,” sighed Zevran. “I kept that part of myself hidden for so long... hidden from everyone, for it would have been used against us both had anyone known. As it was, I know that Vengeance still tried to use me to control you. He thought you merely jealous over your plaything; I know that when he had you judge me before the court, it was to toy with you - what did he hold over you? Did he tell you that he would kill me if you did not do that? Ah, it does not matter now. I thought it was happening again when Fenris had me brought out before the court; Vengeance worked his malice upon us all. But I am glad I did not give him anything more to torment either of us with.” 

He patted Leto on the shoulder. “I am sorry, more than I can ever say. Unburdening myself has not lightened my heart, in truth; perhaps that is of some small comfort to you. But do not fear. I do not expect a similar confession from you; I know you have never felt love for me, even if, as you say, you do not hate me.” He was silent for a moment, then in a whisper breathed, “Thank you for that small mercy.”

“I… never hated you,” Leto said roughly as he tried to gather himself. He wanted his room, his bed and to be alone with Anders more than anything. “I’m sorry I hurt you, that I did not love you in the same way. I don’t know if I can ever come to feel that but if they allow it, I … I am willing to try.” 

Zevran froze in the act of taking a sip of brandy, the glass halfway to his mouth. He blinked, then lowered the glass. “You... you are....” He turned his head slightly to stare at Leto. “Tell me,” he breathed. “Do you... do you then feel... _something_ for me?” There was an incredulous look in his golden eyes, as though he dared not believe or have hope.

“I do care for you, I could not have shared your bed if I hadn’t. But … I do not wish to hurt anyone again. Only if Anders and Dorian will allow it,” Leto said quietly.

Reflexively, Zevran glanced around at the others and found both Dorian and Anders staring at him.

“What is it, Zevran?” asked Anders gently. “Was there something you wanted to ask?”

Leto sat up and stared around at them, waiting to see what happened. Dorian was giving them both a quizzical look, Anders a gently encouraging one. He heard Zevran’s quietly audible swallow, and wondered if the Antivan’s mouth had gone as dry as his had all of a sudden.

“Yes, but... I do not know how to ask, and I do not know what your answer might be, though I know the one I fear most,” Zevran faltered.

“You want to sleep with him,” said Dorian heavily. “Are you out of your mind? You must be, if you think we would allow him to hurt you again, Zevran!”

“Leto won’t hurt him,” said Anders quietly. “The thought sickens him.” He glanced at Leto and gave him a sympathetic smile. “No, I rather think that was the last thing either of them would ask for.”

“Then what?” asked Dorian. He set his glass aside and leaned forward, curious. “Go on. What do you wish to ask, _amatus_?”

Zevran licked his lips briefly, his gaze darting from Anders to Dorian and back nervously. “I... I have not the words,” he began. “Leto... Leto and I....”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed and he stared at Leto. “What did you say to him, Leto?” he asked, suspicious. “What is it he’s trying to ask for that has him so desperately afraid we’ll say no?”

“I didn’t … I.. was trying to say… I’ll just ask.” Leto took a deep breath and looked Dorian in the eye. “If you and Anders will allow it, may we try to be … to all be together, properly not like before. If not, I understand.” He dropped his gaze and clenched at the bedding as he awaited the answer.

“You... you want...” began Dorian slowly; before he could finish his sentence, Anders leaned forward.

“Yes,” he said firmly.

Zevran stared at him, astounded. Dorian was likewise staring at Anders in shock. 

“Yes?” he echoed, at a loss. “Just like that?”

Anders turned to him. “Oh, come on, Dorian,” he chided. “It’s not as if you don’t still have feelings for Leto yourself as well. And I know you’ve thought about what it was like when you two were together with Fenris. You were wishing it was Leto the whole time, weren’t you? .... see, I knew it!” he exclaimed as Dorian suddenly blushed and Zevran gave a disbelieving chuckle. “See - you’re imagining it _right now_!” He turned back to Leto and Zevran. “So, yes.”

“Just like that, eh?” echoed Zevran softly. Anders shrugged.

“I love Leto, and I want him to be happy. It’s not as though having multiple bed partners isn’t something I’ve done before anyway, and you and I have slept together before as well, Zev. Granted I’ve never really thought about sleeping with Dorian before - but, well, I’d have to be blind not to have noticed his charms, and of all my advisors I always liked him the best after Leto and you - so, yes. And if you all still care for one another then... then I’d like to be a part of that. So... yes.”

“Really?” Leto asked as if he was sure they meant it.

Anders was staring expectantly at Dorian. “Well?” he asked with a lopsided smile.

“Damn you,” muttered Dorian, still blushing. “And - and damn me too, for lacking Zevran’s gifts at dissembling. Oh... very well.” He looked back to Zevran and Leto. “Yes. Yes, alright? I agree. Part of me thinks this will all be a frightful disaster, but... yes. I - I agree to try. I make no promises beyond that though - and I swear, Leto, if you cause hurt to either Zevran or Anders - by thought, word or deed - then... then you’d better pray Mythal _does_ answer your prayers!” There was a suspiciously-bright glimmer to his grey eyes as he spoke.

“If I hurt any of you, I would expect you to end me for it.” Leto dropped to one knee in front of Dorian and offered his hand. “I swear this to you _amatus_.”

At the word _amatus_ , Dorian clenched his eyes shut and shuddered, then pressed a hand to his mouth before bowing his head. He drew a ragged breath, and his shoulders began to shake.

“Don’t weep, please. I am not worth your tears, Dorian,” Leto said quietly. Dorian merely reached out with his free hand blindly for Leto’s hand before clutching it tightly and drawing another ragged breath.

Zevran got to his feet and took a step towards them, his eyes on Dorian, but halted as he felt Anders’ hand close gently yet firmly about his wrist. He stared down at the blond mage, who merely shook his head then rose and gently pushed him back towards the bed, sitting down and tugging Zevran with him. Silently the elf obeyed then they both gazed at the other two men.

Leto looked up before standing and pulling Dorian into his arms, still weeping quietly and thanking the other mage for accepting him back. “I’m sorry, I thought I could convince myself you hated me so it was easier to pretend. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Dorian clutched at him then hugged himself close to Leto, burying his face against Leto’s chest as he gave in to his sobs quietly. “I-I-I _missed_ you, damn you!” he wept. “I brought the wrong man back and - and even after all you did, you bastard, I couldn’t forgive myself and damn it, I _missed_ you!” he wept.

“Me too, I missed you. It’s hurt so much the last month missing you while you were in reach. I’m sorry,” Leto said as he held Dorian close as he could and shook with his own tears. 

Zevran made to stand again but Anders checked him, slipping his wooden arm around the elf’s waist and pinning him to his side. The Antivan stared at him, then gave Dorian and Leto one last glance then he turned and grasped the collar of Anders’ shirt before abruptly, deftly shoving the mage to his back and sitting astride him, catching Anders’ wrists in his firm grasp and pinning them to the bed above Anders’ head. The blond apostate stared up at him, unafraid and yielding, then closed his eyes as Zevran bent low over him.

“Are you sure you want this?” murmured the elf in Anders’ ear.

“Do you?” whispered Anders back.

Zevran answered by claiming Anders’ lips with a kiss, stealing his breath until Anders was oblivious to all else; he moaned, the sound muffled as it was swallowed by Zevran’s kiss

Leto leaned down and kissed Dorian slowly, easily in case the magister wanted to pull away. “May I?” he asked softly. 

“Whatever you wish... no - no, not quite anything... but this? Yes. Right now... I trust you,” breathed Dorian. “I may be a damned fool and might yet live to regret this, but I’ll worry about that later.” He leaned up and kissed Leto.

The taller elf pulled away to breathe softly, and to gently tug Dorian towards the bed. “May I?” Leto asked he sat on the bed and hoped the other mage would join him. As he sat there, waiting for Dorian, Zevran sat up slightly, still keeping Anders’ wrists pinned as he turned towards Leto; both he and Anders were flushed, Anders’ eyes closed as he panted and Zevran’s half-lidded.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” he breathed as he gazed at Leto before he looked down at Anders, who lay helplessly trusting beneath him.

“Yes?” Leto replied while he waited for Dorian to make a move. He glanced to Zevran and Anders before looking into grey eyes that seemed to be fearful. Dorian moved slowly towards the bed, one hand toying with the lacing of his high collar. He halted just out of arm’s reach as his eyes went to Zevran, who glanced at him over his shoulder and said nothing. Dorian’s eyes went back to Leto and he drew a deep breath then exhaled before stepping forward and standing over Leto. He seemed to come to a decision suddenly, his hands both going to his collar and he began to unlace it.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” Leto said as he watched Dorian undress slowly before he started to tug at his own clothing. 

Zevran gazed at Leto for a moment longer, then turned his attention back to Anders. He leaned down and pressed another kiss to his lips, then straightened, releasing his wrists before beginning to unlace his own shirt. Dorian was letting his tunic slip from his shoulders to pool unheeded on the ground, his hands going to the waist of his pants, his eyes smouldering as he gazed down at Leto. 

Leto pressed him down to the bed and asked for a moment before going to Zevran and kissing him until he needed air. “You’re next ...enjoy Anders for now.” 

Zevran had whimpered into the kiss until he was silenced; as Leto drew back and released him, Zevran moaned with longing breathlessly, before opening dazed eyes to gaze at him. It was Anders’ touch upon his arm - the dry wooden fingers lightly stroking the inside of his wrist - that brought him back to himself. He stared down at Anders, who smiled at him gently then tugged him back down again.

Leto returned to Dorian and pulled his tunic off, dropping it to the floor before dropping to his knees in front of the other man and giving him an entirely filthy smile. “Hi.”

Dorian stared down at him, his eyes widening in surprise. He had been about to drop to his own knees, certain that Leto would wish to use his mouth as he had done so often before. He could only stare at the elf mutely; belatedly he nodded consent when Leto reached his hands for the fastenings of his pants then glanced up at him.

Beside them, Zevran had not been half so restrained; his hand was down the front of Anders’ pants and Anders was arching up into the Antivan’s touch as he groaned loudly, Zevran muffling the sound with another kiss before he slid his other hand into Anders’ tousled blond hair then tugged a little sharply. Anders obediently tilted his head back and the Antivan nipped lightly at the exposed pale throat with his teeth as Anders gasped.

“What do you want from me Dorian?” Leto asked as he pulled Dorian’s pants down and he worked on removing his boots. He was quiet, almost subservient as he knelt back on his heels and looked up from under his hair, his gaze open and trusting. 

Dorian stared down at him, then gazed at Zevran and Anders. As if somehow feeling the Tevinter magister’s gaze on him, Zevran paused to lift his head and stare back at Dorian over his shoulder.

“Let him make you feel good, _carissimi_ ,” he purred, “Whilst I make Anders feel good. And then we will _all_ feel good, _si_?” Without waiting for an answer he turned back to Anders, leaning down to bite at the bland mage’s collarbone as Anders cried out wordlessly, grinding up into the touch of Zevran’s hand around his cock as he writhed beneath the Antivan.

“Well... when he puts it like that....” said Dorian after a moment’s silence, before staring down at Leto. “Please... be gentle with me?” he added, quieter, plaintive.

“Of course,” Leto said before he leaned forward and took Dorian’s cock in his mouth, unfamiliar with starting things off on his knees but eager to please the others. He looked up to see if he was doing a good job. He was greeted by the sight of Dorian with his head thrown back, eyes closed as he panted, one hand threading into Leto’s hair as the magister groaned.

“L-Leto....” he managed, breathlessly. “Oh, yes....”

The elf would have smiled but instead he closed his eyes and focused on pleasuring Dorian until he felt a hand nudging him back. “Don’t you like what I was doing?” he asked in confusion.

“Knees going to give way if you keep going like that,” gasped Dorian. “And I’m too close - want....” He panted for a moment, trying to force himself to calmness again. “I want to feel you inside me when I come,” he finally managed.

“As you wish.” Leto got on the bed and patted it before calling up slick to his hands. “Do you wish me to get you open, _amatus_?”

Dorian swallowed hard at the name once more, and nodded, not trusting himself to speak for the moment. He slipped off his pants then crawled onto the bed to lie on his back, gazing up at Leto. Beside them, oblivious to their presence, Zevran was swallowing Anders down as he gently thrust into him with two fingers, the blond apostate panting as his hands clutched at the bedspread, Anders’ eyes closed as he moaned, lost to all sensation save Zevran’s touch.

Leto smiled as he slipped his fingers down and started to work one into Dorian, his gaze intent to be sure he wasn’t hurting him. “May I add another?” he asked as he sped his strokes. 

Dorian nodded. “Yes - _Venhedis_ , yes!” he exclaimed with a groan. He was starting to push back into Leto’s fingers, his breath coming in pants as he felt his heart speeding up. The moans and panted pleas from Anders next to him had him impatient for Leto to do more, give him more even as Anders begged Zevran to go faster, harder, only please, _please_ -

“- _Please!_ ” begged Dorian, unaware until he heard Leto’s quiet chuckle that he had been echoing Anders. The bed was rocking beneath them as Zevran’s movements sped up, the sounds of skin slapping upon skin growing louder as Anders cried out with each thrust, his voice growing higher as the blond apostate writhed mindlessly in the throes of his own ardour.

“Please what?” Leto asked before he added two fingers to fuck him deeper and get Dorian ready for him. “Want what they are doing, ask me,” he growled.

“Please - p-please, Leto, please fuck me,” Dorian begged. “Please!”

The elf laughed before shifting slightly to work his cock into the other man, slow and easy. “That what you wanted?” he asked as he thrust in deep and hard. 

Dorian cried out and clutched at Leto’s shoulders. “Please, please be gentle with me!” he begged, tears starting at the corners of his eyes as he stared up at Leto.

Beside them, Anders’ panted cries were reaching a crescendo but Zevran slowed a little, sparing Leto and Dorian a glance, a faint frown upon his face even though his eyes were glazed, close to his own climax.

“I… forgive me,” Leto said as he stilled and called up more slick, pulling free slowly to slick Dorian more and himself. He stared the other man in the eyes as he readied himself to slide back in. “Is that better?”

Dorian nodded, and managed a tremulous smile. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Zevran turned back to Anders, focusing his full attention on the former Warden who had been oblivious to the interruption.

“I got a little excited, I’m sorry,” Leto breathed as he took his time and was far more gentle until he felt Dorian’s ass brushing against him. “How do you want this?”

“A little faster - but gentle... Kiss me?” he pleaded. “I have missed your kisses, _amatus_....”

Leto leaned in to kiss him, all while going faster while he held Dorian’s hand, while holding himself over the other man. He bit his lip as he felt his fangs coming down but not his tail or wings. 

Beside them, Anders suddenly threw his head back, his breath stuttering as he shuddered, coming silently; a moment later, Zevran followed him over the edge with a low grunt, his movements slowing as he panted, Anders likewise gasping silently beneath him, his eyes closed. Dorian had eyes only for Leto however. 

“Do you wish more? Faster?” Leto panted as he tried to control himself from getting rough as he was accustomed to with the other mage. “So hard not to lose myself,” he mumbled. 

“Faster... more, please - please, Leto, I’m so close, so close!” gasped Dorian, his forehead sheened in sweat, his body beaded with it as he rocked back into each of Leto’s thrusts.

The elven mage gave him what he’d begged for, his thrusts fast but not as rough as he normally would have been with Dorian. Instead he kissed his lover in between snaps of his hips, even sliding an arm under the Tevinter mage’s waist so he could hit deep but not hurt. 

Dorian was soon panting and keening beneath him, lost and aware only of his own urgently-building climax. Beside them, Zevran was quietly taking care of Anders, cleaning him up as he spared the other two men occasional glances. He paused as Dorian’s panted cries took on a new note of urgency and then smiled slightly as the magister came with a loud cry that made up for his own and Anders’ silence and then some.

Leto was right behind Dorian, as he came but not as loudly as his bed partner. He dropped his forehead down to the magister’s shoulder, panting as he tried to slow his breathing and not collapse on top of his lover. “I hope...that… was what you needed,” he finally managed.

Exhausted yet sated and content, Dorian turned his head to press a kiss to Leto’s temple. “Thank you, _amatus_ ,” he whispered. “I have missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, _amatus_ ; please forgive me being such a fool,” Leto said as he slowly pulled free and flopped onto his back. 

He lay there panting and waiting to catch his breath; as his breathing evened out, Zevran quietly brought over a bowl of clean water and fresh cloths. He gently cleaned up Dorian, who was half-asleep by that point but gave him a drowsy smile; Zevran kissed him gently upon the nose then drew away to finish wiping him off, patting him dry, before he turned to Leto. He stared down at the taller elf’s still stiff cock, then glanced up to meet Leto’s eyes.

“ _Carissimi_ ,” he said softly. “Will you kneel at my feet... or will I kneel at yours?”

“No more kneeling to me,” Leto said quietly as he struggled to sit up and tug Zevran to him. “What do you wish of me?” 

Zevran allowed himself to be drawn towards Leto, his eyes never leaving those of the taller elf. “What would you give me?” he murmured. “Will you treat me as gently as you did Dorian? Will you kiss me - would you kiss away my memory of pain? Let me lie upon my back instead of have me upon my hands and knees?” 

“Yes, whatever you need of me I will do it. Let me move Dorian over and I will take care of you,” Leto said before scooping Dorian into his arms and gently rearranging the magister next to Anders, who had half-curled on his side and was already deeply asleep after the traumas and exhaustion of the day.Having confronted the site of his own demise then ventured to the place where he had seen and committed terrible deeds, this final exertion had exhausted him. Leto gently draped Dorian’s arm around Anders before turning back to Zevran. 

“What is it you wish of me?” Leto asked quietly, his gaze focused on the shorter elf in front of him. 

Zevran had seemed full of certainty earlier, but now he appeared lost and vulnerable as he stood naked before Leto - more almost than he ever had before an evening of their ‘games’, even then when he had been furious and Zevran had known it. There was a fragility about him that Leto had never seen there before, save once - when he was bleeding to death after the Tevinter ambush, Leto realised. He was afraid, and yet putting his trust in Leto - and as much at a loss as to how the evening would continue as Leto himself.

Zevran swallowed; the longer Leto gazed at him the more nervous he grew. Upstairs in the Rookery, he had bared himself completely to Leto; finally shown what he had always kept hidden, and now he found himself without a mask. He felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with the absence of clothes. He was having to fight hard the urge to fall to his knees; that, at least, would be familiar - a dance whose steps he knew well. This dance was new and unfamiliar however, and Zevran felt lost. It was like that morning after Fenris had pardoned him all over again, when the other elf had struck him; then, as now, he found himself feeling uncertain and lost, unmade once more.

“I don’t know,” Zevran confessed. “I... do not know who I am. I am not the Zevran you once wanted at your feet; you do not want that man. I am not the man who was compelled by blood magic - though that role still feels familiar to me, I... am sickened by what I had to do down in that cell to that man, even though I would do anything to protect you all. But I still do not know myself. I... don’t know how to ask for something different to what I have always known.”

“Come here please.” Leto waited until Zevran was in reach before kissing him, slow, deep and until they needed air. He stared into the other elf’s golden eyes for a moment then leaned in to gently kiss his neck and chest, hopeful it was gentle enough for what Zevran needed. He felt Zevran shiver, then he tilted his head back as he felt the brush of Leto’s lips against his neck and he sighed softly, his hands pressed against Leto’s hips to steady himself, his eyes closed.

“This... yes,” he whispered. It was like that night when Fenris had undressed him, kissing each part of him as he bared it; and yet not. This was no man with Leto’s face, but Leto himself. He let himself be lost in the sensation of Leto gently kissing his way along one shoulder, his hands warm and sure around Zevran’s arms; though Leto were far stronger than he and had pinned him with his hands before, this time Zevran felt perfectly safe, and he found himself dreamily smiling.

“What do you need from me? Soft, gentle, slow and easy? Never again will I hurt you for what we think is pleasure,” Leto said as he continued to kiss his way down Zevran’s chest until he dropped to his knees again and nuzzled against Zevran’s cock. Zevran gasped, lifting a hand to hesitantly rest it upon Leto’s shoulder.

“Please be gentle with me,” whispered Zevran, unaware he had spoken at all until he opened his eyes to look down and found himself transfixed by Leto’s gaze. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and then a nervous ghost of a smile curved his lips slightly. “Perhaps... I know my own mind after all,” he breathed. “I do not want you to hurt me, Leto.”

“I will not,” Leto said before he took one of Zevran’s hands in his and started to suck off the shorter elf, his eyes drifting closed as he tried to make him feel good while not getting anxious about getting on his knees twice in one night for them. 

He felt Zevran shiver, and then the hand on his shoulder shifted as Zevran’s other hand gently stroked through Leto’s hair. “You do not have to do this,” Zevran murmured, his voice so soft only another elf could have heard it. “You knelt for Dorian. I... I do not deserve this....”

Leto looked up with a frown at the other elf’s words. “Don’t say that, you ...deserve much more.” He rose and pulled Zevran with him to lie face to face on the bed before kissing the blond elf more. 

“Dorian has said the same thing to me; I did not believe him either,” whispered Zevran. “I think if you had seen half the things I did before you were taken to the wrong Thedas... all the things I did behind your back or at the Inquisitor’s behest... you would not wish to even look at me, much less touch me. No, I do not deserve this... but I do not wish you to stop.” He gazed into Leto’s eyes. “I am a weak man; a coward. I am sorry.”

“No more than I am a coward, eh _carissimi_?” Leto said as he brushed his fingers through Zevran’s hair with a smile. “Stop saying you don’t deserve to feel good. Let me give this to you, please?” 

Zevran was still for a long moment, and then he slowly nodded. “I... trust you,” he murmured. “You, who have held my life in your hands so often... hands which have broken me... I should fear them, and yet... I do not.” He stared at Leto trustingly. “My life is in your hands once more, and I have given it willingly - but without fear. So... yes, Leto. Teach me that your hands can be gentle to me. Teach me to love them as much as I have dreamed of.”

Leto sniffed as he looked away from Zevran, surprised by the other elf’s trust in him. He glanced up before reaching for oil and nudging the other elf to turn over. “Let me make you feel good before … before you allow me to have you again.” 

Zevran blinked at him, then did as he was bade, rolling over to lie on his stomach and resting his head upon his folded arms, face turned to one side. He lay still, gazing back at Leto over one shoulder.

“Are there any spots I should avoid or that you wish me to work on?” Leto asked as he poured oil into his hands and warmed it before settling in to start at Zevran’s legs and go up.

Zevran groaned appreciatively as Leto’s thumbs dug in expertly, unerringly finding the tense knots of muscle. “I have had to climb those Rookery stairs much of late; they -” He broke off with a slight hiss then gave a soft sigh as a particularly stubborn knot in his thigh gave way to Leto’s hands. “Ohhh, _brasca_ , that feels so good,” he moaned. 

“Easy, someone will think I’m fucking you already,” Leto said as he poured a little more oil into his hands and stroked over the slighter elf’s thighs and over his ass. He glanced to Zevran’s face to see how he felt, if he was enjoying his work. “When I get to your shoulders, turn over and I’ll work on you from the neck down.” 

As he started on Zevran’s back, he realised that the Antivan was tense; he could feel that Zevran was making a deliberate effort to relax and enjoy Leto’s ministrations but the muscles along his spine were a mass of knots. As he set to work on them, Zevran gave a low gasp of pain and shuddered, but made no other sound. 

Leto sat back to flex his wrists and get a bit of feeling back in his fingers. “What is the problem? I am doing my best to be gentle with you, Zevran,” he asked quietly. 

Zevran groaned faintly, then turned his head a little to gaze back at Leto. “I - I know,” he managed. “I am sorry... my back... I need this. Not for the pain... but, the knots... I know there will be pain first, but it will feel good after, when I am not such a mass of knots, yes? Please... I do not want the pain, but I know that it is... necessary. And that you are not doing this to deliberately hurt me.” He swallowed hard as he stared at Leto. 

“I can stop, I do not wish to cause you pain again, Zevran,” Leto said as he stared back at the other elf. 

Zevran stared at him anxiously. “Leto... I am already in pain,” he confessed quietly. “I know you do not wish to hurt me. But I cannot ease this by myself. Please... do not stop. If you do this... then I will be able to sleep without pain later. Please.”

“Alright, but if it’s too much tell me,” Leto said before he resumed his massage, careful to work on knots he could feel before indicating Zevran should turn over. “Do you wish some warmth?” he asked. 

“Please,” nodded Zevran as he rolled over onto his back. He groaned as he stretched a little without the feeling of tightness and pain he’d been feeling of late; it was a welcome relief.

Leto warmed his hands before stroking Zevran’s neck firmly but not enough to worry the Antivan elf. He worked his way down, noting what got him an indrawn gasp, or a hiss of pain. He was almost down to the other elf’s cock before he paused. “Do you … wish me to touch you, Zev, or finish the massage first?”

As he’d worked lower, he had felt Zevran shiver slightly beneath him, his breathing speeding up a little as the Antivan moaned appreciatively. He was watching Leto, his eyes half-lidded and darkened to a rich amber behind lowered blond lashes; his cock had stiffened, and as Leto let one hand drift slightly to stroke it very gently it twitched and Zevran’s breath hitched.

“Please,” breathed Zevran. “Please... again... please, touch me....”

The white haired elf gave him a shy grin before stroking faster, his attention honed in on Zevran, taking in every change in his expression as he stroked his lovers cock. “More, _carissimi_?” Leto asked as he sped up just a bit. His answer was a low cry as Zevran arched up into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he arched his neck.

“ _C-carissimi -!_ ” he panted, then licked his lips, his breath coming in faster pants.

“I like hearing that,” Leto said as he sped up, determined to give the smaller elf another climax before he tried taking him. He wanted Zevran relaxed and feeling good more than worrying about his own need for once. Zevran cried out again, his body shuddering beneath Leto as he clutched the bedcovers beneath him, his spine almost arching off the bed as he tried to thrust up into Leto’s grasp, head thrown back and his eyes clenched shut.

“Let go, give in to how you feel Zevran,” Leto said as he stroked faster, harder to make the other elf finally give in and come for him. He studied every change in the blond elf’s expression, each hitch of breath or the way his eyebrows drew down as he got closer to release. 

Zevran gasped, then gritted his teeth as he felt his climax building, unable to hold it back. Leto’s words seemed to release something inside him; that voice which he’d become so conditioned to obeying. He tried to hold back, but he was helpless; the cry was strangled in his throat but he came, hard, his body shuddering almost violently before he fell limp, gasping raggedly for breath. He could taste blood in his mouth and realised he must have bitten his lip at some point and been oblivious to it. He panted, open-mouthed, eyes still closed.

He felt the bed dip slightly as Leto rose; there was the quiet sound of splashing water, and then a moment later the bed dipped again and Zevran felt Leto moving closer before there was the warm touch of a rag swiping over his skin, cleaning the traces of his own spend from his stomach and chest.

“Zevran?” asked Leto softly. Zevran opened his eyes and blinked, the room seeming over-bright.

“Zevran, are you with me?” asked Leto; the Antivan glanced down to see the taller elf leaning over him.

“ _S-si_... am... am just... Please, a minute,” Zevran managed to gasp breathlessly.

“Of course, I’ll get you something to drink.” Leto said before slipping away to get the drink Zevran had forgotten about when things started to happen. “Here, let me help you with this.” the taller elf offered as he held the Antivan in his arms, even holding the glass to his lips so he could drink. 

The brandy stung his lip where he’d bitten it, but Zevran ignored the small discomfort as he sipped. He was distracted by the feeling they had been in this position before - no, not he and Leto, but... he and Fenris? He gazed up at the emerald eyes which regarded him intently. He’d only ever been cradled like this by Leto in the past when he’d been seriously hurt. So often over the past couple of years, that had been at Leto’s hands - and yet he felt no fear this time. 

“Thank you,” he murmured softly.

“You’re welcome, _carissimi_ ,” Leto said softly, his gaze warm and trusting as he held Zevran to him, letting the other elf sip at his drink slowly. “Did I do alright?” he asked after a while, afraid he’d not given the assassin what he needed.

“ _Si_ ,” nodded Zevran. “But... but you, _mi amor_... what of you?”

“I’m fine, I wanted to give you pleasure and to focus on you Zev. I’ve taken plenty from you, and this is pretty nice actually. Besides, I can always wait for later. I didn’t get a chance with Anders, nor you with Dorian.” 

Zevran lifted a hand to gently stroke Leto’s cheek and gave him a soft smile. “I can wait for Dorian; after all, we have been sharing a bed for a little while. And you have had Anders also. But... I have never felt you inside me whilst you were in a gentle mood, Leto. And I long for you to take me and feel no pain or fear at last. Leto... please. Take your pleasure with me. I consent to it.”

Leto brushed a thumb over the other elf’s cheek, letting his fingers graze his throat and lips as he considered the request. “Only if you have energy for it, you’ve already enjoyed Anders and I pushed you to a hard climax. If you want me like that, tell me how I may be with you,” he said quietly.

“It will exhaust me, but I shall sleep all the better for it, and perhaps I need not fear my dreams afterwards,” replied Zevran. “I wish to be able to see your face; so rarely have you permitted me that, _mi amor_.” As Leto’s fingers brushed his throat, his eyes fluttered closed briefly; as they touched his lips, he kissed them. “I have consented to you taking me so often,” he whispered. “But never has submission tasted so sweet as this. If I am dreaming, I never wish to wake up.”

Leto closed his eyes as he fought not to crumble at Zevran’s words to him. “No more talk of allowing or permission unless its to tell me what you want. I will never again treat you, Dorian or Anders like that especially not if you trust me to lie with you like this. I’m so sorry for the ways I’ve abused you all and I...I don’t --” He was cut off by a finger over his lips. 

“Hush, _mi cuore_ ,” breathed Zevran. “We were both victims of this foul place and the blood magic of Vengeance - I was enslaved by it but it touched all of us. We are free of that now, and the past is behind us. I trust you, Leto. I will not flinch from your touch. Please. Make love to me. Let us find pleasure together.” 

Leto nodded as he leaned in to kiss Zevran, a tear escaping despite his attempts to hold himself together. He pulled back reluctantly, unsure how to make love to the other elf. Aside from the other version of him; Leto had not been gentle or treated kindly by a lover in too long. “I...I think I’ve forgotten how.”

Zevran gazed up at him and gave him a reassuring smile. “Would you prefer I ready myself, or do you wish to do it?” he asked. “Perhaps, this time, I should do it and you enjoy watching, eh?”

“No, I will. I’m just uncertain and a bit scared right now. Give me a bit of patience please?” Leto said before he took the rest of Zevran’s drink to fortify himself before reaching for the oil. “Lay back when ready?”

Zevran lay back and spread his legs, drawing his knees up, his eyes never leaving Leto’s. “I am ready, _mi cuore_ ,” he said quietly.

Leto slicked his fingers and added extra around his opening before slipping a finger in and taking it easy, watching the other elf’s face for any hint of discomfort. 

Zevran deliberately relaxed himself, his body allowing the intrusion as he closed his eyes and gave a soft groan. “Leto... yes....” he murmured.

“May I add more fingers?” Leto asked, watching the slighter elf becoming less tense as he crooked his finger in a slight come hither motion. Zevran’s eyes opened wider and a hedonistic moan escaped his lips as his cock twitched with definite interest.

“Please - please!” he begged, wanting to feel that electric sensation once more.

The elven mage smiled as he slipped a second finger in and repeated that motion a little faster and a bit deeper. He grinned as he heard Zevran’s moans go deeper and throatier. On his next thrust Zevran shuddered and threw his head back, clawing at the sheets with his hands as he gasped, then whimpered.

“L-Leto... p-please....” he begged. 

“Please what love?” Leto asked before he leaned in and nipped at Zevran’s ear while adding a third finger. “I want to see you lose yourself,” he added. Zevran shuddered again and turned his head slightly, gasping for breath for a moment as his fingers clenched spasmodically into the sheet; there was the soft sound of ripping silk as the fabric tore.

“N-need... Leto, p-please. I beg you - n-need you inside me. Please!”

“I take it you like me teasing your ears?” Leto asked as he pulled his fingers free and reluctantly drew back to oil his cock and get Zevran relaxed enough to take him. “May I?” he asked quietly. 

Zevran opened his eyes; they’d fluttered closed as he panted, but he managed to focus on Leto with visible difficulty. “ _Si, si, mi amor_ ,” he managed to gasp.

“Thank you,” Leto said as he slowly worked himself into the slighter elf, being gentle until he was flush against Zevran before he leaned back in to resume worrying at the blond elf’s ears. “Is that what you needed?” 

He felt Zevran shiver, then the Antivan moaned, his eyes wide, the pupils darkened as he gazed sightlessly. He pushed back into Leto and then his eyes rolled back and he moaned again with utter abandon.

“Still with me?” Leto asked as he rolled his hips a little faster, making sure he watched for a hint Zevran wasn’t with him so he could stop if needed. He stared at the elf as he worried the tip of his ears. 

“Y-ye-” Zevran got no further as Leto lavished attention on his sensitive ears once more; he had canted his hips and each thrust of the larger elf was brushing his sweet spot. The sensations from both places at once were overwhelming him; he was riding waves of ecstacy, each one more intense than the last, and all he could do was groan, trying to gasp for breath between each one, being pushed inexorably towards the edge.

He’d felt this way before so rarely through pleasure; perhaps twice in his life. It was an unfamiliar feeling; he was so used to pain driving him into that warm, floating place but he could feel himself slipping under.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, unaware his eyes were glazed.

Leto snapped his hips faster, all while he kept worrying at Zevran’s ears, nibbling and even licking from lobe to tip as he held one of Zevran’s hands, whispering adoration in between tugging at the golden hoop the elf wore. He focused on making the Antivan overwhelmed with pleasure. 

Zevran could barely breath between each wave of pleasure; his breaths were hastily snatched gasps of air between each one that were exhaled as a keen, a cry that rose in pitch as he felt a third climax growing irresistibly inside that threatened to overwhelm him. He was light-headed and lost. He was unaware that he was breathlessly babbling in Antivan, begging for release, for more, harder, faster, until he came hard with a ragged scream as his vision whited out and he grew limp beneath Leto. He lay there as Leto chased his own orgasm, the Antivan’s eyes blank and glazed, a dazed half-smile upon his face, dreaming and lost at last.

Leto came with harsh panting of Zevran’s name, his strokes slowing and getting erratic as he caught his breath. He pulled free slowly, rolling to his back and letting his eyes close for a bit. “Zevran, are you alright?”

There was no answer; Zevran lay still, exhausted and in a trance, his eyes half-closed and unfocused, the dreamy half-smile upon his lips as he lay there. After several minutes, he turned his head a little towards Leto. “Hmmm?”

“Checking that you’re alright, and that I gave you what you needed,” Leto asked quietly, his voice low and raspy as he tried to catch his breath. His only answer was a hum, and Zevran closed his eyes, the dreamy smile still playing about his lips. A little rivulet of blood had leaked from the bite wound the Antivan had given himself earlier; if Zevran were aware of it, he gave no sign as he lay there, still entranced and deep under, oblivious to his surroundings. 

Leto forced himself up to wash up and get towels so he could clean up Zevran as well. He took care of the other elf, making sure to dry him off and cover him before he got the others into the king bed. It was going to be a tight fit, but he wanted them all together. 

“What do they feed you in Tevinter? You’re a dead weight, Dorian,” he muttered as he got the magister into bed on the other side of Zevran before turning to find Anders looking at him sleepily. 

“Come on, bed time for all of us love,” he said with a grin.

“I heard a scream,” murmured Anders. “Thought I was... was....” He blinked at Leto, clearly still more than halfway asleep.

“I… ah, gave Zevran what he asked for and he might have been a bit loud,” Leto said as he rubbed a foot against his calf, a bit discomfited at the idea he might have seemed to be hurting anyone again. He glanced up and smiled at how Anders looked, rumpled and ...cute if he had to say so. His hair was a tousled mess of gold around his face and brushing his shoulders, and his eyes were still dazed with dreams, and he gave Leto a sleepy smile.

“Oh... good... I was having a strange dream, and I....” He shook his head. “No... doesn’t matter... as long as everyone’s happy, it’s all good... it _is_ all good?”

“ _Si_ ,” slurred Zevran, his eyes still unfocused. “Is good. Is very good.”

Anders gave a little giggle, and smiled at Zevran fondly. “Is good then,” he nodded, then curled back up to sleep once more.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Leto said as he doused the lights aside from a couple of candles near the bed. He made sure the door was locked before climbing in and cuddling with Zevran, yet he wasn’t able to sleep for some time. 

“Love you, Fen,” slurred Anders as sleep steadily claimed him; Zevran was already deeply asleep in Leto’s arms. Dorian was very quietly snoring; shortly, Anders was snoring in gentle counterpoint, his mind deep in the Fade.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster strikes Skyhold, putting everyone's problems into perspective.

Anders stared down into the glazed, dead eyes of the young mercenary woman, and with a shaking hand he gently brushed her eyes closed. Bowing his head, he breathed a brief prayer to Andraste for the young woman’s soul before wearily straightening up and glancing around.

The Great Hall of the keep was filled with rows of cots. Here and there, a handful of healers - some of those who were still on their feet, at least - were moving around the cots, down the various rows. Two rows over from Anders, a young healer - a lad of barely fifteen; Anders couldn’t even remember his name - was slowly covering the face of another plague victim, his shoulders shaking. Anders knew he should go to him, but he was so unutterably weary.

In barely four days, plague had raced through the fortress. People were dying; already far too many for pyres and too few mages to attend to that sad duty in any case. The mages had been hardest hit of all; over half the mages had been struck down - and of those, two thirds had died within the first couple of days, the plague affecting them the most virulently.

The Chargers were, on the whole, hardier and less affected - but there had been over thirty deaths amongst Krem’s people already. Krem himself lay in a sickbed in the infirmary, one of the first of his people to go down with it, though he was fighting valiantly against the contagion.

Anders could scarcely believe how swiftly it had taken hold. The travelling merchant had died the evening that Callus fell to fever; the rest of his retinue followed in the following days save one young lad - the merchant’s son - who was one of the first to be showing signs of recovery.

Callus himself still lay a-bed, fighting his own battle with the plague, burning up with fever and lost to delirium. Fenris sat vigil over his son as Pin and Garrett took it in turns to nurse him day and night, keeping his body alive. Magic seemed only of limited effectiveness against the pestilence that had besieged Skyhold; all they could do was try to support the body, treat the symptoms, try to strengthen immune systems, mitigate the damage to organs, and keep the patients as comfortable as possible as the plague raged through them.

Anders wished he were back in their rooms. Zevran lay deathly ill, and Ellowynne sat with him at present. She’d insisted on being with them to nurse her _Zio_ and nothing and no-one could gainsay her. Anders longed to be with them, but he knew his duty lay here, nursing the greater numbers of sick and needy.

He looked around wearily; Invictus had arrived in the Great Hall some time ago but Anders had been too preoccupied with the young mercenary woman, and he’d lost track of time until she finally gave up her fight and breathed her last. Now he dazedly looked around for his husband; he felt exhausted, physically and emotionally, and in desperate need of the gentle grounding he always felt around him.

Vic had moved away from a young man that seemed to be through the worst of it before be looking up to notice Anders standing in the makeshift ward, looking lost. He came over, slipping an arm around the blond mage. “Hey, you need a break love.”

Anders gazed at him blearily but managed to summon a wan smile. “Maker... yes, but... there are so many -” 

He broke off and ran a hand over his face slowly. “There’s so many of them, love, and so few of us, and - and I can’t save them, any of them; I feel so... so powerless,” he breathed quietly.

“I know but neither of us will be any good to anyone if we work ourselves to collapse. Let’s get you something to eat, we’ll check on Zev and try to get Fenris to sleep or something. He’s barely moved from Cal’s side all this time,” Vic said as he steered Anders toward the stairs. 

Anders stumbled slightly and leaned into the reassuring strength of Vic’s arm as he nodded tiredly. “We lost eight this morning... that young woman makes nine, and... and.... Vic, I don’t know how many more we’re going to lose.” He shook his head. “And this is but one place that the merchant visited - we have no way of knowing where he started. He likely spread it every step of the way.”

“Once we’re through it here, we can see if there was any kind of plan or manifest on these things if they haven’t been burned already. Right now we’re both doing well to be upright, if we get caught up in where he’d been, we’ll never rest up. Come on with me,” Invictus said tiredly, his own energy gone. 

Anders nodded, knowing Vic was right. He didn’t know how he would have coped without his calm strength; he knew that if left to his own devices, he’d easily have worked himself past the point of exertion and into one of these sickbeds alongside his patients by now. “What would I do without you, love?” he tried to smile.

“I’d rather not think about what I’d do without _you_ , love,” Vic said as he led them back to their rooms and prepared himself for the fight with their other husband to eat or be moved from his son’s bedside. “He’s going to get sick if he doesn’t eat and sleep.” 

“Fenris?” asked Anders, then sighed and nodded. “I’d suggest one of us putting him under, but he needs food as much as sleep. I think it’s the feeling helpless part that’s getting to him. Andraste only knows what he’ll do if Cal doesn’t pull through....” He closed his eyes briefly. “No better than any of us would, I think. And if Zevran doesn’t pull through....” He swallowed hard. “No. I can’t think about that. They both have to pull through - they _must_.” 

“My only fear is that if we put him under and Cal doesn’t make it, he’ll never forgive us for being unable to say goodbye,” Vic said wearily. “I wonder if we can put him to work burning bodies, since he has mana to spare and he’ll be angry enough for it.”

Anders lifted his hand and with an effort managed to coax out the merest tiny wisp that died almost as soon as it manifested. “More than I have,” he murmured, even that effort leaving him drained. “That’s another worry, love - we’re running low on lyrium already, and with the quarantine in place there’ll be no more for a while once it’s gone. We need to start rationing it.”

“Also accept when we can’t save someone; it’s harsh, but spending mana on those too far gone will cost us as well. If we could get Fen to help, we’d have a lyrium source if he’d go for it. But right now he’d take my head off for asking. I wish he’d tried to do more with his power before now,” Vic said with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m not doing well either and wishing he’d prepared for something none of us knew were coming isn’t fair. I’m taking a bath and sleeping soon as we check on them.”

Anders nodded. “Sleep sounds wonderful,” he admitted as they began to climb the stairs towards the College tower entrance.

They were barely halfway up when the doors were suddenly thrust open and Becky, the First Enchanter’s wife, emerged, her face white and a hopeless look in her eyes as she looked around. Her eyes fastened on Anders and Vic, and Anders halted. “Oh no. Vic. I have a bad feeling.”

“Becky… what’s wrong?” Vic asked warily. 

“Invictus... Anders!” she exclaimed, and then ran towards them and flung her arms about them both, burying her face against Anders’ chest. “Gone... he’s gone!”

“Parcival?” gasped Anders; the woman’s grief was clear answer however. Anders blinked down at her, stunned. “No... Maker, no!”

“He... he never woke... he... Parcival, my Parcival!” she wept.

Anders gazed at Invictus, lost for words.

“Becky...I...I…” Vic stammered before staring at his husband at a loss as well. 

Anders swallowed hard, trying to blink back the tears that were stinging his eyes as he held Becky, trying to find words as his throat tightened. “Becky, I... I’m so sorry,” he managed. “Parcival was... he was a g-good man....”

“He was...a very good man,” Vic said quietly with a guilty look to Anders before glancing away. “What can we do for you Becky?” he asked. 

She lifted her head, face wet with tears, and sobbed. “Bring him back... bring him back, oh Maker, please!” She stared up at Anders. “You came back - you brought _Hal_ back! Please, I’m begging you!”

Anders’ eyes widened. “I - I can’t do that,” he whispered. “Only Andraste Herself could do that, Becky - Maker, I am so, so sorry....”

“Bring him back!” she screamed, beating her fists against his chest. “Bring him back!”

Anders could only stand there and stare at her helplessly, not lifting a hand to defend himself, as those few people in the courtyard all halted to stare at them.

Invictus gently pulled Becky back and held her, as he tried to comfort the grieving woman. “Please, you know he can’t do that. Andraste Herself was how he came back and Hal .... none of us know how that happened. I’m so sorry Becky, so very sorry but hitting Anders won’t do anything.” He spoke quietly in her ear, holding her so she couldn’t hit him as well. 

“Bring him back!” she screamed again before abruptly, all the fight went out of her and she collapsed, weeping bitterly, in Invictus’ arms as Anders could only stare, tears rolling down his own face.

It was a couple of hours later before they finally reached their own rooms. Becky had been left in the care of two of the senior enchanters, whilst a third made preparations for the funeral of the First Enchanter of Skyhold. Invictus and Anders both felt raw and at the limits of their strengths as they finally reeled in through the door to their room, both holding each other up.

“I need a drink,” said Anders tonelessly as he fell into the nearest chair.

“So do I,” Vic agreed as he made his way to the drinks cabinet, pouring them both a half glass of whiskey. He raised a glass to his husband’s and gave him a grim smile. “To Parcival.” 

“To Parcival,” Anders echoed, his voice wavering, before he downed his whiskey in one. He stared into the empty glass afterwards, feeling the liquor burning its way down inside. 

“I taught him,” he said softly. “One of the finest healers I’ve known. He was steadfast, always. Never faltered.”

“Yeah...never backed off,” Vic said before he covered his face to hide his tears. 

“Love?” asked Anders gently. 

“He didn’t deserve to go like that. He was such a good man, a good First Enchanter. It's not fair. It's not fair… that I made his life harder at times and he should still be here!” Vic said before he started to pace as he tried to get his feelings under control. 

“The youngest First Enchanter ever, I think,” said Anders quietly. “No. It’s _not_ fair. And that’s one part of being a healer I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.”

“I’m sorry, I think it’s just hitting me hard. Seeing Becky like that was rough, and it’s still not real. Let me check on Fenris then we can check on Zev before we sleep?” Vic said after knocking back his drink.

“I... I think I need to go check on Zev now, I... after Parcival, I... he went down sick the day after Zev and -!” Anders lurched to his feet and stumbled a few steps towards the room where Zevran lay, then halted to stare towards the room where Fenris sat vigil over his sick son. He stood there, torn, in an agony of indecision.

“Go check on Zevran, I’ll come with you, then we can both check on Fenris. He has Pin, Marian and Garret there with him,” Vic said as he pushed Anders gently ahead of him. 

Anders stared at the door to the other room for a moment longer, then nodded and headed towards the room he’d been sharing with Zevran.

Ellowynne glanced up as they entered; she was sitting by the side of the bed. Zevran lay still, his eyes closed, face waxen and pale. Anders moved to the side of the bed and stared down at the sick man. “Is he -”

“Sleeping,” said Ellowynne softly. “The fever is still high. He was rambling earlier, but has said nothing for the past two hours.”

“Rambling?” echoed Anders.

“Oh, something about a dragon,” she shrugged. “Fever dreams.” She glanced up at her father, and something in his expression had her leaping to her feet. “Father? Father, what is it?”

“Parcival,” Anders choked out.

“The First Enchanter?” exclaimed Ellowynne. “Oh no. Oh poor Becky... Father? Father, are you -”

He said nothing, merely held his hand out to her as he covered his face with the other hand and silently wept once more.

Invictus went over to check on Zevran, closing his eyes and attempting to feel out how the elf was doing so Anders could have a moment with his daughter. “You’ve survived shit that should have killed you ten times over Zev, come back to us...please,” he begged quietly. 

Zevran didn’t stir. His breathing was slow and rasping, sweat beaded his brow, but he made no other sound; as Invictus sank his senses briefly into the Antivan’s body he could feel the same thing he’d felt in the bodies of the others he’d nursed that morning - fever raging inside, the contagion spread through the elf’s whole body, his blood sluggish, lungs congested, the bruises where blood had seeped into tissues, mottling his skin. Zevran was deeply unconscious and unaware of his surroundings, much as he’d been for two whole days now save for brief moments of delirium here and there.

“You can’t go Zevran, it will kill us. Please stay, please don’t leave us,” Vic asked quietly as he withdrew his magic, and sat back to wait for Anders so he could tell him what he’d felt. 

Anders had all but collapsed into another chair, near done in by exhaustion. Ellowynne was gently wiping the tears from his face as he slumped there, gazing dully at Zevran.

Invictus forced himself up to get water for his husband, hopeful he wouldn’t fall into despair at the news of Parcival’s death. He held the glass up, rather than trusting Anders to respond and take the glass. “Is there any food Wynne? Your father needs to eat as should you … and I at some point.” 

“Most of the kitchen staff are sick,” said Ellowynne quietly. “But there’s day-old bread and half a wheel of cheese over on the table, and a pot of stew by the fire. If this continues for more than a few days, we’ll start to run out of supplies.” She sighed. “But for now, there is food - if few people to prepare it.”

“I can help with that, if it comes down to it. Hopefully things will taper off soon and we can start seeing who’s made it and who hasn’t,” Vic replied before handing her the water and getting Anders a small bowl of stew. He returned, holding it out for his husband. 

“Love, you need to eat something.” 

Anders was gazing aimlessly towards the bed, his eyes unfocused; after a minute, he blinked and belatedly seemed to realise Vic was standing there, patiently holding out the bowl of stew.

“What? Oh. Oh... food,” he sighed. He slowly pulled himself back together and sat up, reaching for the bowl. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m about done in.”

“You stay here and sleep, I’ll check on Fenris then I’ll go collapse in a heap myself,” Vic said as he stood and winced at the sound from his knees. “Maker give me strength.” Even as he turned towards the door to the other room, he heard voices suddenly raised - Fenris shouting at someone, and what sounded like Marian and Garrett trying to calm and hush him.

Anders blinked and stared at the door in bemusement. “That... doesn’t sound good. But... I don’t hear Pin...?”

“If it were Callus, we’d have heard Pin,” Ellowynne nodded in agreement. “Maybe I should go check....”

“If he loses control, I don’t have enough mana to dispel his magic. Maker, if you cared about any of us, let him not start lobbing fire around,” Vic implored whatever may be listening before heading into the room to see the twins trying get Fenris to stand still, and Pin looking worried and fearful. 

“Ser! Fenris, ser!” exclaimed Garrett as he clung to the tall elf’s arms, trying to get him to focus on him as Marian swiftly worked counterspells to dispel the ice creeping out from Fenris’ form; Vic could see an overturned chair next to the bed where Callus lay, still feverish and unconscious, much as he had been when last Vic had checked him before he left to join Anders a few hours ago. The chair was covered in ice and Fenris was glaring at a ring on his hand in alarm.

“Please - please calm down, ser!” begged Garrett. The young healer didn’t have even half the strength of the older man but was still clinging to him grimly and trying to reach him with his voice. Pin was staring anxiously at them both - and Vic realised he could hear Isabela’s voice.

“LETO HAWKE, CALM DOWN!” Vic shouted as he tried to get the ring from Fenris, enough that he could reply to the Rivaini woman. 

“What’s going on? Fenris is losing his mind over here, and he’s afraid of whatever you’ve told him!” Vic shouted. 

Fenris had stopped only to glare at his husband, his fangs down as he felt ice forming around his hand that Vic wasn’t gripping. “Invictus Endrin Hawke… mind yourself!” he snarled. 

“Hawke? Well thank fuck _someone_ over there has their head screwed on straight,” came Isabela’s voice. She sounded stressed and harried - and there was a peculiar note of worry in her voice that Vic had never heard there before. “Listen - I keep trying to tell him. Aeolus is sick - _very_ sick - but so is the whole of Denerim right now. I told him not to panic, but apparently he can’t feel Aeolus - whatever that’s supposed to mean - and then it sounded like all the demons in the Void decided to let loose at once over there.”

“He...can’t feel his brother’s lyrium means ...it might mean Aeolus has cut their connection some how or…” Vic hesitated as he glanced at Fenris then back to the ring. “Or that Aeolus is gone. Either way, we’re dealing with the plague here too so this means the merchant that spread it here must have passed through Denerim as well.” 

“He can’t be dead Vic. I can’t lose my brother and my son,” Fenris said as he focused on stopping the ice that had spread around him and onto the younger man trying to hold him still. “I have to go to him.” 

Garrett was shivering, ice riming his clothes, his fingers turning blue with the cold where ice had crept up his hands; yet still he held on to Fenris grimly. “C-c-cal is- isn’t d-dead,” he managed to get out. “Y-you h-have t-t-to l-listen t-to C-c-captain Is-Isabela!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him, Hawke!” snapped Isabela’s voice through the ring. “He’s _not_ dead. I don’t know why Fenris can’t feel him, but he’s alive! But there’s plague here and it sounds like it’s hit you too. It’s bad here, Hawke - I have to tell you. City’s under quarantine, and my ship and four others have blockaded the harbour so no-one can get in or out. I’ve lost half my crew and I can smell the funeral pyres from the city from here. Tell Fenris he has to stay away. The plague broke out here three weeks ago and there must be a third of the city dead. I’ve heard rumours that there are maybe a handful of healers still alive in the city - someone said one of them is a spirit healer, but I’ve no way of finding out the truth. I’ve sent for one of them and I just hope they decide to respond. But Aeolus is alive thus far.” She paused for a moment and coughed. “Bloody smoke. Anyway, glad you’re not dead Hawke - sorry it’s hit your people too. How bad is it?”

“Bad, we lost about ten today and … and Parcival was one of our losses. Fenris’ son is very sick so he’s not going to be alright Isabela. Please give him a break, we’re all at our wits’ end here,” Vic said tiredly before he turned to see Fenris and the twins staring at him in shock.

“No… not him. That’s not right, he’s been so strong, you have to be wrong Vic,” Fenris said quietly as he felt Pin take his hand and grip it. 

Garrett released Fenris and gaped at Invictus in shock. “N-n-no....” he shivered. “N-not... n-n-not M-m-master P-Parciv-”

“Garrett!” exclaimed Marian in alarm as she grabbed for her brother, guiding him back to the nearest chair and then clasping his icy blue-white hands in hers as she deftly called a little fire magic into her hands to try and warm them. “Garrett, focus - focus on me -”

Garrett gazed at her in shock, unable to speak. She hurled an accusatory look at Invictus. “Maker - did you have to break it like this?” she cried. “Garrett was his apprentice! We were all his students!”

Isabela’s voice was quieter as she spoke into the sudden hush. “Hawke? Maker... I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

“Marian… fuck.” He dragged a hand over his face as he fought to stay upright. “I’m sorry, I’m barely making it as is. I’m sorry to have let you know like this. If you can spare it, go visit with Becky later, she needs people around her.” Vic turned back to the ring he held. “Fenris can make it in, he’s been the most resistant to the outbreak.” 

“Let me see him Isabela, please,” Fenris asked as he joined Invictus. 

“Fenris... I don’t know if you’re resistant or just lucky, but - seriously. It’s bad here. I’m not exaggerating. The city is covered in smoke from the pyres, there’s been looting - it’s bad. Not quite as bad as during the Blight but really, I don’t think it’s far off. If you jump in to Denerim, there’s no telling what you’re going to find - trust me, you’re better off staying where you are and looking after your own people. I’m doing all I can for Aeolus. I was hoping....” Her voice grew quieter. “I was hoping Anders was there. But... if there’s plague in Skyhold, then... he’s needed with you more. I... I hope your son pulls through, Fenris. I really do. Give... give my love to Zevran.” The ring went dark.

“Dumat,” breathed Pin. “She doesn’t know.”

Fenris was staring at the ring in Vic’s hand before he took it, and slipped it back on shakily. “I can’t stay, but I can’t leave Cal either.” He sat there, unsure what to do or where to go.

“Father, I am here,” said Pin firmly. “As are Marian and -” Her eyes went to Garrett, who was sitting hunched over in the chair as Marian stared at his white hands with a worried frown. “As is Garrett - and Ellowynne’s next door, and Uncle Vic is here - and you _know_ that Master Anders won’t let Callus die! But you heard her - there aren’t any healers on her ship or she wouldn’t have lost so many, and there’s only a _rumour_ of a spirit healer? We all know how rare spirit healers are! Master Anders, Ellowynne and I are the only ones here in Skyhold!”

Fenris looked up at her, his gaze fearful. “What if he can’t? What if I’m gone and Cal… and Cal doesn’t make it?” he asked softly. 

Marian stared at her twin, then looked back at Fenris as Garrett lifted his head to stare at him; two pairs of bright blue eyes. Marian had her arm around her brother protectively and her gaze was fierce. “Ser... it’s your brother. Cal has a far better chance than him right now. Cal has three spirit healers within feet of his bed, and many more other healers. Your brother has only Isabela... and you.” She glanced to her own brother. “The archdemon himself couldn’t keep me from Garrett’s side if I were in your shoes.”

Fenris glanced at his daughter before slipping his ring free and giving it to her. “Use this if anything happens, anything you hear me?” he said before pulling Pin in for a hug. “I love you Pin.”

“Be safe, Father,” she whispered. “And I pray Dumat spares my uncle.”

“Me too, and your brother.” Fenris kissed her on the forehead before turning to Invictus and giving him a tender kiss. “Take care of them for us, I will be back my heart.” 

“I know, and I hope that all will be well for you and Aeolus. I love you, Fen,” Vic said quietly before nudging his husband away before he couldn’t let the elf go, much as he knew he would be inconsolable if he stayed. 

Fenris gave a slight wave before disappearing into a wave of bluish white light, and reappearing amid the chaos of Denerim. He realised that Isabela’s words had fallen woefully short of how bad it truly was.

The air was filled with the charnel stench of funeral pyres and the sickly sweet putrid scent of unburied bodies. He’d arrived in the marketplace - or what had been the marketplace; the stalls were gone, and in their place were the burned-out remains of two large pyres, from the looks of things - the wood from the stalls no doubt fuelling the fires. He was aghast at the thought of how many must have died, that they couldn’t take them further out of the city but must burn them right here in the city itself. And yet, there was too much smoke to be accounted for by the remains in the market square.

There had to be some people still alive - someone must have built those fires, and he could hear distant shouts and cries coming from several streets away. 

As he began to make his way through the streets, he had to pick his way carefully around the glittering shards of broken glass from looted shops and a few houses. The door of a tavern stood open; he took a step towards it but then recoiled at the smell of putrefaction that greeted him. Yet this was a city of sickness - it was not yet a dead city, though certainly here was death enough to account for a third of the city, if Isabela’s estimate were accurate - and from the looks, sounds and smells of things, he would say it was.

He could still hear the shouting; almost, he could make out the words, and he found himself pacing through empty streets that should have been thronged with people, drawing closer to that sound. 

People were shouting for a healer. No - for _the_ healer. Had the city lost so many then?

“Mythal and Dumat, what has Denerim become?” Fenris wondered as he turned to look for the docks. It was where he’d last found his sibling and his best hope for finding the older elf. He tried to run, but kept coming across survivors that seemed listless and scared as they wandered the streets. He finally saw the sign of the place where he’d fought with Aeolus, or more he’d walked off rather than thought about what had been said to him. 

It had a sign on the door, a crude skull and crossbones, a sign that many were dead and sickness was there. He turned to look for another inn, or the boat he knew Isabela and Aeolus to run together in the harbor - but there was no sign of the ship at anchor in the harbour, and nor was there any sign of the ship’s boat. Her entire crew must be aboard then - what was left of it, anyway. But where? 

“You won’t find no ship to take you away from ‘ere, sirrah,” said a woman’s voice behind him. “Quarantine, ain’t it? No-one gets in, no-one gets out. We’re all gunna rot together, like it or not!” He turned to see a ragged woman staring at him; she appeared to have stepped out from the warded tavern where presumably the inhabitants were all sick... or dead.

“I’m looking for my brother, messere - tall, half white and half red hair,” Fenris said as he glanced at the woman, then went back to looking among the ships.

“Ain’t seen ‘im,” sniffed the woman. “Only red ‘ead I seen is the healer, and I ain’t seen ‘im in three days. Not since ‘e cured me sister’s little baby. Couldn’t save me sister, but ‘e could save ‘er whelp. What’s another mouth to feed, when so many is dead, eh?”

“Red headed healer?” Fenris asked before he caught himself. “Thank you messere, I hope you can stay clear of this sickness.” He started to walk toward the docks, hopeful to find the ship his brother called home. 

“Healer was stayin’ in the Alienage, last I ‘eard tell!” the woman called after him. “If your brother was stayin’ at the docks, happen ‘e might be in need of one - try there!”

Fenris gave a half attentive wave before speeding up and trying to find a spot to look over the ships that were blocking off the rest of the port. He frowned as he tried to spot their vessel but couldn’t quite make it out. There were five ships standing across the harbour mouth, their sails furled and reefed in; that plus the thick smoke drifting across the harbour from the funeral pyres and, he could see now, burning houses in one of the quarters of the city, made it impossible to see any flags or insignia he could recognise. At this distance, he couldn’t recognise any of them as being Isabela’s ship, and they were just too far from shore for him to simply teleport himself onto the decks of each in turn. He’d have to get closer - either by commandeering a boat and rowing himself out, or by setting out on the lengthy walk out to the sea wall and hoping he could see a deck clearly from there to teleport to.

“I can’t shift, someone will think I’m a demon or something. I regret not just asking Isabela where they are,” Fenris muttered as he decided on the sea wall route, hoping he could get far enough away from prying eyes to change and fly until he found the right one. He closed his eyes and briefly reached out through his lyrium - but there was no answering touch from his brother’s lyrium. Disquieted, he opened his eyes and moved on.

The harbour front curved around the bay, before eventually giving way to the long curving thick stone sea wall that enclosed the harbour - all save for the very harbour mouth itself, where the five ships rode at anchor, spaced apart. Smoke drifting across the city and the harbour darkened the sky and gave the appearance it was far later than the bare hour after noon that he knew it to truly be. It stung his eyes and choked him as he made his way, coughing, out along the sea wall.

It took him some time to make his way out towards the harbour mouth. The closer he got, the clearer the view he had of the city; smoke rose from several different places, ad he could see that many of the rich nobles’ houses were either aflame or smouldering. Ships and boats dotted the harbour - almost all of them drifting aimlessly or else anchored out in the harbour and away from the sick atmosphere and chaos on land.

A rowboat was making its way from one of the ships towards the docks, just two men on board; he couldn’t make out much of either man except they were dressed in what seemed to be fishermen’s gear. They had just pulled away from either the third or fourth ship along from his end of the harbour mouth; it was impossible to tell precisely which however.

“Come on, why can’t I find their ship!” Fenris muttered as he strained to look for the distinctive masthead and name but he wasn’t able to pick it out. He looked for the _Siren’s Call_ but wasn’t able to pick her out. “I shouldn’t have given Pin my ring, or I should have asked Isabela exactly where they are,” he said again. He stared back at the rowboat, then squinted as the wind shifted, blowing smoke towards him across the harbour.

Well, it was somewhere to start; maybe Isabela had decided to try and send for this healer he’d heard of, or maybe this was all a wild nug chase - but he decided to make for the centre ship first, and hope it was the right one - and failing that, that he would be able to see better to make out which one was Isabela’s ship.

He made his way to the very farthest end of the sea wall then stared, willing the breeze to shift enough to give him a clear enough view of the middle ship’s deck for him to teleport safely to its deck. He had to wait, pacing impatiently, for over half an hour before finally the stiff breeze dropped briefly - and the moment he could see the deck, he teleported.

The ship was near-deserted. As Fenris looked around himself, he realised that he could only see two crewmen - a lookout, high in the crow’s nest, and an older-looking man up on the rear deck by the wheel. Neither man appeared to have noticed his presence.

“ _Venhedis_ , I’ll have to hop to each deck to figure it out. I hope no one decides I’m a spirit or demon and tries to shank me,” the elf muttered as he set his sights on the farthest deck he could see to visualise the space in case he should find himself having to teleport there. He looked around to see if the ship he were on looked familiar at all, but it had been some time since he’d been on the ship to visit with his sibling. In fact it might have been during their fight, he realized, and choked up a bit at the memory. He heard no one above decks, though the warrior was surprised no one came to investigate the strange elf.

“Hello? Anyone aboard?” Fenris called out as he wandered the deck.

“How did you get on board?” asked a female voice behind him - too gruff for Isabela, and the lilting accent was wrong. “There’s a quarantine in place - none in, none out! You’re not getting out of Denerim on this or any other ship!” He turned to see an elven woman with dark tan skin and bright copper-red ringlets, eyeing him over the point of her cutlass. 

“I’m not trying to leave! I’m seeking my brother and his woman. They’re on one of the ships holding the blockade. If I was trying to escape why would I come here alone? Can you tell me which one is the _Siren’s Call_?” Fenris said as he glanced over the elven woman, hopeful she wouldn’t try to skewer him.

She frowned. “You’re standing on her,” the woman replied. “How did you get on board, if you don’t even know which ship you’re on?”

“Oh thank Mythal. I’m Aeolus’ brother, I heard he was ill with plague so I came as soon as I could,” Fenris said gratefully. 

She stared at him implacably for several heartbeats, then lowered her blade. “Your eyes and hair are different, but you have the same tattoos,” she said slowly. “You have the same... abilities as he then? You can... vanish and reappear as he does?”

“Yes, I can. He… Isabela contacted us and told us he is sick, I had to come see him. Please take me to him. I beg of you.” Fenris approached before he realized she could almost pass for a more athletic version of their sister. 

She abruptly sheathed her cutlass. “Name’s Avantika. Second Mate of the _Siren’s Call_ \- well, acting First Mate whilst your brother is ill. Yes, he contracted the plague ten days ago; we thought we’d kept it off the ship but turns out the contagion came aboard with a boat of supplies we took on from one of the other ships. We’ve lost half the crew since then. Your brother had fought harder than most though, and now there’s a healer on board, maybe he’ll turn the corner. But you’ve come none too late, messere. Come on, I’ll take you below.”

Fenris heard her but didn’t move as she beckoned him, he was too caught up in how she looked and he wondered if Varania had taken ill as well. He’d been so caught up in caring for Callus he hadn’t thought to check on her. “If we all survive this, I will never forsake my family again, Mythal. I beg of you save them,” he said to himself as he finally moved.

“Messere?” Avantika was frowning as she looked back from the door which led below. “He’s this way - in the Captain’s cabin?”

“I’m sorry, I… you remind me of our sister,” Fenris said quietly before following the elven woman. 

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m Rivaini born and bred, but if your sister is anything like your brother, I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied with a grim smile. “Come on. I think the healer’s finished.”

“Thank you.” Fenris said as he followed her down to the cabin, fearful of what he would find. He entered after she opened the door, stepping back to allow the tall elf in. He went right to Aeolus’ bedside, ignoring the blond young man that was slumped over in a chair next to the bed.

The older elf’s hair was limp with sweat, he was paler than usual and his breathing was shallow, almost so quiet he feared his brother was about to breathe his last. Fenris knelt next to the bed, took Aeolus’ hand in his and wept. He’d not treasured finding his family as he should have, not when anyone who had escaped slavery and survived all he had would have killed to find their family again. He started speaking quietly in Tevene, unsure if his brother could hear him but he felt the need to speak what was in his heart.

“ _Brother, don’t leave me,_ ” he begged, before glancing up at Avantika. “Leave us, please.” Then he turned back to his brother, slipping back into their native Tevene. “ _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry the last time I saw you that I left in anger. I swear I won’t argue with you if you’d just open your eyes, or speak or squeeze my hand. I’m begging Mythal, Dumat, the Maker…Andraste ...anyone who might hear me begging for your life and Callus’. I ...I’ve been a fool, and if you die, it will kill Isabela and I. Please Aeolus...please don’t die on us,_ ” he whispered quietly as he knelt and prayed.

If Aeolus heard him, he gave no sign as Avantika slipped quietly out of the cabin. He lay still and silent, eyes closed, though unlike Callus no sweat beaded his brow - his fever broken. Fenris desperately hoped this were a positive sign, that his brother would recover. He spared the blond man next to him a brief glance.

The woman at the docks had said the healer had red hair; he wondered who this blond man might be - a herbalist, perhaps. Whoever and whatever he might be, evidently the man was exhausted; if he had skill enough to break Aeolus’ fever, then perhaps he’d been frantically busy with other patients since the plague broke out - but if he had healed Aeolus, Fenris pondered, then maybe he could help Callus and Zevran too.

He turned his attention back to Aeolus, clutching his brother’s limp hand in his as he quietly implored his brother to wake and open his eyes. It was hard to say, but to Fenris’ untrained eyes there seemed to be a little more colour in his cheeks than when Fenris had first come into the cabin - and was his breathing a little deeper, a little easier? He fervently hoped he wasn’t mistaken.

He couldn’t help but dart glances at the sleeping man at the foot of the bed however, curiosity growing about the young healer. He wondered who he was, and how Isabela had found him. The man was oblivious to Fenris’ scrutiny; his head was pillowed on his arms, his face turned a little towards Fenris as he slept, slumped forward onto the foot of the bunk. His blond hair was scraped back into a ponytail, stray hairs escaping the leather tie, and he had a slight, scruffy dark gold beard, from what Fenris could see. He was a young man; he could almost have passed for Anders’ younger brother, and there was something familiar about him.

There was the sound of a booted foot behind him, and then Isabela’s voice from the shadows. “So, you came after all,” she said, her voice husky as she stepped out of the shadows and into the light cast by the only lantern. As Fenris looked up at her, he could see that she was clearly exhausted; she must have been nursing Aeolus for days. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, and her eyes looked dull and almost hopeless - much as his own must be, Fenris reflected.

“I told you to stay away - but I should have known you’d come,” she went on as she leaned against the end of her desk, folding her arms and staring at him. 

“I...couldn’t stay away. He’s my brother even if we get on like oil and flame at times. He’s my blood Isabela,” Fenris replied quietly before rising to face her. “I’m not sick, and since I’m here I can help. Cal has his sister watching over him.”

“You have two spirit healers to care for your son,” shrugged Isabela. “Not much that the likes of you and I can do but sit there and watch. Most of the healers here in Denerim died in the second week. We’re left with a bare handful of herbalists and maybe three mages in the whole of the city, and they’re overworked as it is.” She glanced to the sleeping man. “I’m more thankful than you could know that I could persuade one to come... and it’s nothing short of a miracle that he’s here,” she added. She was staring intently at the blond man; there was something unreadable in her eyes that Fenris was struck by. He turned and regarded the man thoughtfully, but the sleeping healer was oblivious to his stare.

“Then I owe him my thanks, too,” said Fenris quietly. “Whatever it is he did, Aeolus’ fever appears to have broken.”

“Well, he’s no spirit healer like Hal,” said Isabela, an odd note creeping into her voice. “But he’s good - and he was willing to come to the aid of... old friends.”

“You know him then?” asked Fenris. 

“Oh yes,” nodded Isabela, giving him a peculiar look.

“I’m grateful for him then,” Fenris said as he gave her an odd smile and held his hand up to show ice forming in his palm. “I can also heal a bit, so if I can be of help tell me what to do.” 

He dropped his hand before glancing at her, concerned for her reaction after all she’d heard him rail against mages back in Kirkwall while she traveled with them. The elf expected her to lay into him for being a hypocrite.

Her eyes had gone briefly back to the sleeping healer before returning to Aeolus as he lay there, still and unmoving, his breathing slow and rasping slightly. She moved closer to the bunk and stared down at the unconscious elf before sitting herself carefully on the edge of the bunk and gently trailing her fingers over the ruined scarred mess where Meneris’ fist had wrought such devastation on Aeolus’ face.

“Frankly, sweet thing, at this point I’ll take all the help I can get to heal Aeolus,” she said quietly, her voice more subdued and grave than Fenris thought he’d ever heard it before. “And I’m not above praying for miracles. After all, I’ve had one already - but I think he needs all the help he can get. I lost half my crew to this plague, Fenris. But I’m damned if I’m going to lose him too.”

“I won’t let that happen if I can help it Isabela. At least his fever is broken, and he seems to be breathing easier. May I try?” he asked as he approached, curious about the blond healer but more concerned with his sibling’s recovery. 

Isabela gestured wordlessly to indicate she was willing to let him try.

As Fenris laid his hand on his brother’s arm, he could immediately tell why he’d been unable to touch his brother’s lyrium or sense it; it was - for want of a better word - focused deeply inside Aeolus in some strange fashion. He’d already known that in some way, lyrium was alive - but he’d never thought it could be so deeply entwined with his or his brother’s body that it could be actively fighting off the plague. Yet that was what appeared to be happening now; and he could feel the residual touch of magic at work, rippling through Aeolus’ veins. 

Fenris blinked. The magic felt familiar - _very_ familiar; and yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. But the magic was bolstering Aeolus’ immune system and interacting with his lyrium in a way which Fenris didn’t quite understand.

“The healer is good, I can feel what he did. I don’t think there is much I can do with magic but I can get him cleaned up and put fresh sheets on the bed, bring him food once he wakes up. His lyrium is fighting off the infection, that’s why I couldn’t feel him,” Fenris said as he kept contact with Aeolus, needing it to stay calm. 

“Yes,” nodded Isabela. “Blondie said as much. He may not be Anders... but he’s good. If I’d had him on board sooner, I probably wouldn’t have lost so many crew. But at least he arrived in time.” She sighed.

“Anders has worked himself endlessly. Between the many ill, Zevran and Callus… he’s had very little rest,” Fenris said as he realized he’d just left without saying goodbye and he hadn’t checked in with the others.

“Dumat take me, I just left and I haven’t told them how Aeolus is doing.” He reached over for the ring his brother wore, twin to the one he’d given Pin and pulled it free.

Isabela gave him a sharp look at mention of Zevran. “Zev? What’s wrong with him? Maker’s blue balls - _please_ don’t tell me Zevran caught it too?” she exclaimed.

“I wish I could lie to you, but he’s gone down as well. I don’t know about our sister, Dorian or Meneris. I’ve ...I’ve been so focused on Callus…” Fenris fell quiet as he looked at the ring in his palm. He sniffed and wiped away a tear as he tried to make himself use the ring. 

Isabela glanced at the ring. “You left your ring with Hawke and Anders then?” she asked.

“Pin has it, she was sitting vigil with Cal,” Fenris said before brushing a thumb over the stone and calling for his daughter.

“Pin...are you still with your brother?” he asked, fearful for what she might have to say.

There was silence for a couple of minutes, and then a female voice answered. “Uncle Fenris?”

“Where’s my daughter?” he asked as he got up to pace, his mind going to the worst things when she hadn’t answered.

“Uncle Fenris, it’s Ellowynne. Pin is fine - she’s just sleeping. Between sitting up with Cal all night and then having to heal Garrett’s frostbite, she’s just exhausted herself. Father is with _mi Zio_ , so I told her to get some sleep whilst I sit with Cal. Is... is Aeolus... is he....” Her hesitation and worry was clear from her trepidatious tone.

“Anders has left his thirteen-year-old kid to sit up with your son??” said Isabela, incredulously, her voice pitched low so Ellowynne wouldn’t hear it through the ring. “What was he thinking??”

Fenris glanced at her and made a stop motion as he crossed the room to sit with his brother again. He took the other elf’s hand in his, needing the comfort. “Later,” he mouthed before replying to his step-daughter. “He’s doing better than Cal, his fever is broken and he’s just sleeping. They found a healer here, and it seems he’s done a good job. Can you have someone check on Varania as well? I don’t know if she’s ever been exposed to the plague or if she escaped it in the fortress. I’m going to sleep soon, if I don’t pass out first. How is Zevran?” 

He heard Ellowynne sigh. “Much the same as before. Still burning up, and delirious - when he’s awake, which is becoming more and more infrequent. Father was beside himself - going frantic until Uncle Vic put him to sleep. There’s... there’s little any of us can do for any of the sick people except... try to mitigate the worst damage while the plague runs its course.” She sniffed, and drew a ragged breath. “There’s no way of predicting who will recover and who won’t. It’s... hard to tell who has the best chance of fighting it off, and who... who hasn't. And... and after his... his problems with lyrium....” He heard Ellowynne give a choked sob, and he was reminded immediately that although Anders’ daughter had somehow grown up a lot in the short space of time he’d been away from Skyhold, she was still a young woman who must have seen a lot of death in the days since the plague hit Skyhold.

“Wynne, I know this is hard to deal with. Do you need anything that I can do? Is Invictus awake to sit with you? I ...I worry for you being alone right now,” Fenris said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of Aeolus’ hand in a slow pattern as he tried to keep calm for Ellowynne’s sake and controlling his own emotions. 

“I’m so scared, Uncle Fenris!” Ellowynne finally wept. “ _Mi Zio_ is so sick and weak, Father is exhausted, and I’m so scared Pin will make herself so exhausted looking after Cal that she’ll catch it, and I can’t save anyone - nothing Solas taught me works! Uncle Fenris - please, this healer who’s helped Uncle Aeolus - could he come to Skyhold? Could you bring him? Please, Uncle Fenris, I’m so scared that _mi Zio_ will die and I won’t be able to save him! I - I don’t know what to _do_!” She broke down sobbing, the sound heartbreaking to hear through the ring.

Isabela was watching with sympathetic eyes, but her arms were folded and she was slowly shaking her head.

“Not now Wynne, he’s exhausted himself healing Aeolus. I’m almost sitting next to him and he hasn’t moved or looked up. My guess is he’s worn himself out like your pater has. I’ll ask once he wakes up but I have no idea if he is safe to bring for himself or us. He could be contagious and not know it,” Fenris said as he looked to Isabela in confusion for her response. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep and let Invictus sit vigil for awhile? I ...wish I could do more but its worse here in Denerim, half the ship’s crew is gone and most of the city seems to be dying or burning,” the elf finished as he watched the pirate continue to shake her head no.

“Al... alright, Uncle Fenris,” replied Ellowynne in a small, broken voice - sounding like she’d given up hope. The ring chimed once and then went dark.

“I’m sorry, sweet thing,” said Isabela softly. “But I can’t let you take my healer back there.”

Fenris hadn’t heard her, he was staring at the dark ring, feeling as if he’d failed his family. He set the ring aside, covered his face and went quiet. He wasn’t sure what he could do and he didn’t have the energy to ask why Isabela wouldn’t let the healer go to help them. 

“That’s a lot on the shoulders of a kid,” sighed Isabela. “There’s sadly going to be a lot of kids that will have seen far worse by the time this is over, I fear. I’ve seen plague before, and this is the worst one I’ve ever had the misfortune to run into. I had to fight hard to persuade enough other captains to help me form a blockade to keep the rest of the ships in, but maybe we’ll hold it in long enough to slow the plague down, stop it infecting anywhere else. Otherwise it’ll be the damned Blight all over again, only without the darkspawn.” She ran her hands slowly over her face. “Andraste’s flaming arse, but this is a mess. But at least Aeolus is going to pull through. I... really don’t know what I would have done if we’d lost him. I’d sooner lose my ship than him - and you _know_ how much I love my ship.” She looked at Fenris and tried to smile, but it came out all wrong; and then she pressed a hand over her mouth and turned away, her golden eyes glimmering bright in that moment before she looked away, her breathing ragged.

Fenris had never seen Isabela cry. 

He approached her carefully, making sure she could hear him approaching before reaching out to pull Isabela into his arms. He rubbed her back in slow circles, and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “He’s going to make it, your healer seems to be gifted. Aeolus is pretty tough, he’s going to wake up soon and you’ll have your First Mate ....your beloved back soon,” he reassured her. 

She was silent as she wept, though she gave a ragged gasp when he said the word _beloved_ and clutched at his tunic, her head bowed so he couldn’t see her face. It took her a few minutes to pull herself together, but finally she wiped her face with her hand before patting Fenris’ chest then pulling away.

“You’re too damned tall,” she teased him with a watery smile, then swallowed. Then she looked up at Fenris. “Thanks. I... I appreciated that. It was bad enough having to bury fifteen good men - sending them down to their rest from the deck; I was terrified I’d be sewing Aeolus’ shroud next, and I’ve rarely been scared like that in my life. And I shan’t deny that hearing Zevran is fighting for his life comes pretty close right now. But Zevran has Anders, and Pin; Aeolus had just Blondie here and he’s good, but he’s no spirit healer.” She smiled sadly. “Take him back to Skyhold and you’ll just worsen the chances of those poor sods still left alive in the city - and for what? The risk he’ll die there? I... I can’t. Not even for Zevran. And I know Zevran would be the first to understand that sometimes, being Captain means having to make the hardest choices.”

“I hate being this tall,” Fenris remarked out of habit as he watched Isabela carefully, folding his arms to keep still. “I thought Blondie was your nickname _for_ Anders. He won’t like you giving it to some stranger.” He was trying for a bit of humor but he knew he sounded brittle as she had moments before. 

Isabela shrugged and gave him an odd sort of lopsided grin. “He shipped down from Antiva City with us a couple of years back or so. Called himself Fer - well, that was how he introduced himself - but the crew nicknamed him Blondie and it stuck. I recognised him when we got back into dock nearly a month back, and I knew when everything went down that he’d be the sort to stick around, try to help people. I’m just thankful that he was there, by a miracle - and that he didn’t go down with this damned plague when the rest of the city did.” She glanced at the sleeping man, then back at Fenris, and gave an odd little laugh. “I thought you might recognise him, but....” She shrugged, glanced at the man, then turned away. 

“You must be tired and hungry,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll speak to Avantika, see if we can sort out a bunk for you and get the cook to fire up the galley. At least the plague spared him!” she headed out of the cabin, leaving Fenris alone with the sleeping healer and his brother.

He called out but she was already out the door. Fenris had no idea why she insisted that he’d recognize the young blond man but he gave it up and took the other chair by his brother, letting his eyes close for a moment. 

The room was silent with Isabela gone. The only sound was the gentle breathing of the two sleepers; Aeolus’ deeper and slower than the other man. Neither had stirred, all through the conversation with Isabela - nor had the sound of Ellowynne’s voice aroused either man. Fenris frankly envied them both their deep sleep, and the sound of a bunk and food right now was pretty tempting. He’d gone past exhausted some time ago, but felt wired still - on edge, as though still awaiting some disaster and his subconscious had yet to catch up to the idea that the danger - for Aeolus, at least - was past.

Sleep still evaded him, so he sat up and stared at the healer, still unsure what about him was so familiar yet not. His pondering was interrupted by Avantika’s return to beckon him out to the hall. He grabbed the ring on his way out, determined to check in at home after some needed rest. Avantika gave him a sidelong look as he took the ring, but said nothing - merely jerked her head to indicate he should follow. She ignored the sleeping healer and headed back out of the cabin.

“I’m giving it back once he’s awake, its how I can reach the rest of our family ...messere,” Fenris finished uncertainly, not sure how the other elf liked to be addressed. 

Avantika looked back over her shoulder at him. “It’s not me you’ll need to explain it to when the Captain notices it’s missing - and trust me, she _will_ notice. The last fool who tried stealing something from the First Mate found themselves swimming in the harbour - the Captain was feeling merciful that time. She can be _very_ possessive, can Captain Isabela - and you really don’t want to cross her.” 

“Believe me I know, and she saw me take the ring from his finger; I think it will be alright. The match to it is back home with my daughter,” Fenris explained, curiously at ease with this strange elven woman. He’d not met her the last time he’d been on board. “How did you wind up on the _Siren’s Call_?” he asked as they went. 

“Lost my own ship to a mutiny,” sniffed Avantika. “It went down with the gutless bastard but still left me out of a ship and crew. Isabela was looking to take on experienced crew up in Antiva, and I’d just blown in from Llomeryn. I’d hoped for First Mate but it was made clear that that position was already filled by the one docking in her port, so I got Second. Been here for nearly a year now.”

“I’m sure she’s glad to have you,” Fenris replied, noting the bitterness in her voice about not getting First Mate. “I had a moment where I thought I wanted to join the crew, but my brother reminded me how much I hate the smell of fish and how seasick I get.” He sounded wistful about that even if they had fought, again. 

Avantika turned and halted, putting one hand up to lean against the wall as she regarded Fenris from beneath dark red eyelashes. “Not a fan of fish, hmm? Sure someone couldn’t... change your mind?” She grinned, with a flash of white teeth.

Fenris stared at her, not getting what she meant. “I’m not a fan of fish but I’m in no position to refuse whatever is on offer.” 

Avantika gave a throaty chuckle and moved closer, bringing up her free hand to trawl her forefinger slowly up the front of his tunic. “You misunderstand me, messere,” she purred. “Tell me... is _your_ ship docked in a particular port at present?” She smiled, then began trawling her finger back down his tunic and towards his groin.

Fenris froze when she reached out to touch him, and jumped back against a wall as her hand went lower. He stared at her, his eyes wide as he tried to not react as he normally would if a woman had done this to him elsewhere. 

“Don’t tell me you’re shy, sirrah?” Avantika chuckled again. “A big strapping man like you?” She moved closer and stared up at him, then slowly, deliberately licked her lips.

Fenris blinked, as he tried to speak but all he could think of was the games that Hadriana played with him so long ago. He’d not been with a woman of his own volition for years, nor had he wanted to. All he could do was shake his head no and stare at her as he struggled to move, get away like he’d forgotten that he could easily get past her and flee back to the captain’s cabin. 

Avantika took another step closer and toyed with the collar of her shirt, baring her cleavage briefly. “Not even curious for a taste?” she said coyly. “I saw you looking at the healer... is he more the cut of your jib, hmm? Maybe I should see if _his_ ship is a better fit for the dock I’m thinking of.... Oh, you’re blushing! Now isn’t that charming!” She took a step back and gave him a knowing look.

“Galley is that way. Mayhap I’ll go see if a certain golden-sailed vessel might have an opening for a captain who knows her own mind... or prefers a white-haired First Mate with a firm hand on the tiller, eh?” She gave him a wink then sauntered off back in the direction of the captain’s cabin.

“Don’t! Please don’t .... I ...I’m married messere, I’m not looking for anyone else. I...don’t...don’t want, I can’t!” Fenris stammered as he tried to get her to stop. 

“They’re not here,” Avantika pointed out as she looked back over her shoulder. “Why should what happens at sea concern them as stays on shore?” Her grin was positively feral. “But if you don’t swing that way... well. Perhaps the healer knows his own mind better. You go enjoy your meal in the galley; I’ll be looking for different fare. But if you change your mind....” She walked slowly back towards the captain’s cabin, but tapped a door as she passed. “Knock twice and maybe I’ll be in. And maybe you’ll find that fish isn’t so bad after all?”

Her laughter floated back to him as she carried on and disappeared back into the cabin where Aeolus and the healer slept on.

Fenris waited until he was sure he couldn’t hear her footsteps before he went to the galley, put himself at a table where he could see if Avantika returned and he could escape. He was quiet as he ate, unable to relax as he worried that she’d come back. He found himself relaxing slightly by degrees however, as time passed and there was no sign of her. Perhaps she had, indeed, decided to try her wiles on the healer instead; or maybe she had merely decided to take him at his word. Whatever the reason, he was unmolested as he finished his stew in peace. It was one of the other few remaining deckhands who showed him a hammock in a quiet part of the hold where he could rest for a few hours, with an invitation to join the others for cards and wine later if he so chose. He was relieved to hear that the Second Mate rarely troubled herself with the rest of the crew below decks.

Fenris started to make his way to the hammock, eager for sleep for a few hours so he wouldn't feel so beat up. He wandered down the hall, going slowly as he felt his energy flagging. 

He heard low voices from farther back in the hold, and then stumbling footsteps a little way behind him. Glancing back over his shoulder, Fenris realised it was the young healer. His hair had come loose from the ponytail and looked tousled, and his shirt gaped open a little at the top; he looked rather dishevelled, as though someone had pulled him up roughly from sleep. One of the deckhands was pointing to the empty hammocks near the one Fenris was heading for; the young man nodded, then wearily made his way towards one. He glanced briefly in Fenris’ direction; Fenris had a brief impression of exhausted amber eyes that didn’t really focus on him properly as the young man turned towards the hammock and hauled himself into it and slumped down immediately, one hand draping limply over the side as he tucked his head down and appeared to fall immediately back into a deep sleep. 

Fenris couldn’t shake the feeling he’d seen the young man before; something about his gait and the way he moved was familiar. A lot of mages passed through Skyhold, many of whom had gone there to train as healers; perhaps he’d seen the young healer in Skyhold’s infirmary.

The elven warrior decided he would worry about it later, once he could string more than a few thoughts together and when he wasn’t worried about his family. Soon Fenris was deeply asleep despite being in a hammock too short for him.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone *really* wants Leto dead.

Leto was the last asleep but also the first to come awake thanks to the sound of the door being unlocked. He kept his eyes closed but shifted so he could protect the others if need be. He remained still as the door opened and he heard no one call out. With the assassination attempt still fresh on his mind, he rolled to his feet with just a sheet preserving his modesty, and lightning wreathing his free hand; but he found Josephine staring up at him in surprise.

“Ambassador Montilyet, have you tried knocking?” Leto said as he let his power dim and he breathed a sigh of relief, right before he was staggered by a steel bolt slamming into his shoulder. “Bar the door!” he snarled before reaching for the metal and swearing a blue streak as he felt magebane in his wound. 

“Son of an Antivan whore, they must have followed you here. Fuck, this hurts!” Leto hissed before going to his knees and fighting the nausea that hit him hard. 

Anders had shot up, wide-awake in an instant, throwing up a shield over them all including Josephine, who had slammed the door shut and thrown herself down and to the side, drawing a dagger from somewhere.

“Leto!” Anders cried, scrambling up out of the bed and hastening to the tall elf’s side, reaching for the crossbow bolt. Behind him, Zevran had snapped awake, one hand snaking for the dagger beneath his pillow, his eyes empty and blank as they scanned the room for the threat; Dorian was sitting up groggily.

“Don’t touch it!” Leto said as he twisted away from his lover. “You just got over being poisoned!” 

Anders reached out, pushing Leto back and taking advantage of the fact that whilst dropped to one knee as he was at present, Leto couldn’t use his slightly greater height to his advantage. Leto found himself pushed against the bed as a determined Anders managed to get a hold of the steel shaft of the bolt with his flesh-and-blood right hand.

“Hold still!” ordered the blond apostate, gritting his teeth as magebane stung his hand. He pressed his other hand against Leto’s shoulder, letting his healing magic flow into the elf, blissfully dulling the pain from white-hot agony to a bone-deep throbbing ache.

“It’s going to hurt you!” Leto snarled as he tried to get away and not have Anders down as well. He winced as he felt himself kept still by his lover. “I’m going to murder that assassin slowly when I catch them,” he said tiredly. 

Zevran had moved from the bed, eyes still blank as he shifted to press himself against the wall, the dagger held in a ready grip, uncaring of his nakedness, his gaze scanning the room, seeming to land on each of them for a heartbeat then moving on; as it fell on Leto, he looked up to see there was not a flicker of recognition in Zevran’s eyes before the Antivan’s gaze flicked to Josephine, then Anders, then Dorian then back to the door - as though assessing each for any potential threat then dismissing them.

“ _Venhedis_!” exclaimed Dorian as he took in what was happening. “Anders - Dumat, no!”

Anders glared at the Tevinter magister as he shook his head at him warningly. “I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,” he told Leto. “But it has to come out.” He took a firmer grip on the bolt and Leto heard a very faint whimper escape the healer before he could stop himself. Leto was distracted by the nauseating sensation of metal on bone as Anders wrenched out the bolt and flung it away from him before pressing his palm against the wound to pour healing in, ignoring the pain as the magebane in the wound audibly hissed against his palm almost like acid.

Leto clenched his mouth shut so he didn’t scream in Anders’ face but he wanted to. He felt his claws extend as he fought not to push the blond away and deal with the pain. 

Anders had gritted his teeth against his own pain as he fought against the poisonous magebane’s effects, feeling his magic draining away the longer he was in contact with it. Swallowing hard against nausea, he closed his eyes and tapped directly into his own life essence just long enough to push the magebane out of the wound and seal it closed, cutting off the pain until all Leto could feel was the stinging burn of magebane on his skin as Anders staggered back, clutching his own hand as he opened his eyes to stare back at the elf.

“Go wash your hands, I’m trying to stop from throwing up,” Leto said as he sat there, unsure what to do first as he fought the sickening feeling in his body. 

Josephine grabbed Anders’ wrists and bodily dragged him over to the wash basin; Anders was unresisting and made no effort to pull away from the diminutive Antivan woman as she thrust his burning hand into the water and began scrubbing it. He was white-faced and appeared to be slightly in shock.

“ _Amatus_ , what are we going to do?” exclaimed Dorian as he came to stand beside him, offering him a hand up.

“I’m going hunting, then I’m going to lie down and die,” Leto muttered as he got to his feet and leaned into Dorian.

Zevran was blinking, his eyes still blank though his face was a little less mask-like as he snatched up a second blade - one of his long fighting knives, Leto realised - and crossed the room to place his back against the wall beside the door. He blinked again then frowned and glanced around at them dazedly, and Leto realised he’d only just realised where he was and what was going on.

“Can someone pass me a pair of pants?” Leto asked asked as Dorian helped him sit down. He looked to Zevran, glad the Antivan was coming around before he hurt anyone.

Josephine was briskly scrubbing the magebane from Anders’ hand; he’d gritted his teeth but made no sound. Zevran’s attention was on the door, where they could hear muffled sounds of a fight. Someone shouted in pain and there was a thud and the door vibrated as someone impacted it heavily.

Dorian snatched up Leto’s pants and tossed them to him; he was already in his own pants. He grabbed up Anders’ pants and threw them to Josephine. She held them for Anders to step in to; he was blushing furiously but allowed her to dress him as he held up his right hand carefully, wet and dripping; from where he sat, Leto could see the palm of the hand looked red raw and blistered, and he wondered what else must have been upon that bolt beside magebane.

“Inquisitor, we are trapped here!” exclaimed Josephine.

“No, we’re not,” Leto said before he snatched up his staff and opened Dorian’s window. “When you hear me, open the door and attack whoever is on the other side that isn’t me. I’m not going to bloody cower in here while someone attacks us.” 

Anders spun around and stared at him, wide-eyed. “Where - where are you going?” he cried, a faintly panicky note in his voice as he clutched the wrist of his wounded hand and glanced at it for a moment then back at Leto. He was clearly in pain, starting to feel the effects of the magebane himself, and alarmed.

“Just for a little climb, to see who’s trying to kill me today. Just be ready for my signal.” Leto realized he couldn’t carry the staff and climb without taking longer to put on armor so he dropped it and climbed up until he could see where the fighting was going on. From the room behind him he could hear Anders frantically shouting his name.

Through the window of the library, he could see several guards down on the ground, and three more fighting with two dark figures, one of whom lashed out at that moment and the guard they were grappling with dropped to the ground. The figure reached for a satchel on the floor as the other figure managed to drop one of the remaining two guards.

Leto smiled as he crept closer to the fight, before shifting to a more draconic form and leaping to the figure reaching for the satchel, landing in front of them with a screech, blocking their escape routes. He spread his wings, focusing on the person closest to him. 

The moment he screeched, the door of Dorian’s room burst open and Zevran launched himself at the nearest figure - the other would-be assassin. They both went down to the floor and the dark-clad figure grabbed for Zevran’s wrist whilst drawing a wicked-looking curved knife and slashing at Zevran’s unprotected abdomen.

The other assassin raised a crossbow and got off a shot that nearly took out Leto’s eye.

Leto roared in anger before calling up a column of fire, aiming at the assassin who had Zevran. He glanced up at where the bolt had come from, ready to take out their weapon. 

Zevran and the other assassin were rolling around on the floor, both wrestling for the upper hand; Zevran had lost his long fighting knife and was grappling with the other assassin’s knife hand as the assassin drove the knife towards his throat; the assassin had Zevran’s other wrist in a vise-like grip, driving a thumb down into it until the elf was forced to drop his other knife and was now unarmed. Zevran was already bleeding from several slashes - Leto couldn’t tell at a glance if any were serious. The assassin was a larger man than the elf, and the blade of that wicked-looking blade was coming far too close to Zevran’s throat. Yet Leto realised that if he let loose with fire, the two men were so close that Zevran would also be burned.

The other assassin, rather than waste time trying to reload the crossbow, had reached into the satchel and was pulling something out; something round that looked like a small flask.

The elven mage tamped down on the fire he’d called up and ran forward to pull Zevran’s attacker off while he yelled for the others to duck. “Move! The other one has a grenade!” he said as he yanked the would-be killer off his lover and slammed them to the floor. 

As he spoke, the other assassin hurled the flask into Dorian’s room; there was a blinding flash of light and a roar of flame as it exploded, and Leto heard Josephine screaming; Dorian was yelling at her to get Anders back, and then the magister came leaping through the flames that were licking up the door frame, the rug now thoroughly ablaze. He leapt to attack the assassin, who had drawn a pair of curved blades.

Zevran was clutching his throat and curled on his side, bleeding and shaking his head dazedly; he lifted his head as he reached for his long fighting knife and turned to face his assailant. His gaze went to Dorian, locked in combat with the other assassin, then went back to Leto and the first assassin, clearly uncertain who to assist. Josephine was still screaming Anders’ name as smoke curled through the door of Dorian’s room, which was now ablaze.

Leto made Zevran’s choice easy as he ripped the assassin’s heart out before flinging it aside and turning to see where the screaming was coming from. He glanced at Zevran before heading into the flaming room, determined to get Anders and Josephine. 

Anders was sprawled on the floor, face down, unconscious; Josephine was crouched over him, trying to shake him awake as she stared at the flames which had taken hold in the bedroom and were inching towards them. The bed was an inferno, as was much of the carpet, the curtains, and two of Dorian's bookcases. The magister’s desk was just catching alight. The whole room was filled with thick, acrid, choking smoke; Josephine was now coughing hard, scarcely able to breathe; the smoke caught in Leto’s throat. Behind him he heard Dorian cry out, and then a scream of rage from Zevran.

“Dumat take them all,” Leto said as he focused on how angry he was, how cold and furious he felt at what had returned to the fortress. It was harder than calling fire up, but he was able to call up ice, sending it ahead to clear a path to them. 

“Come on, I’ll get Anders, you run!” he called to Josephine as he grabbed Anders, unfurling his wings for whatever protection they could give as he got them out. Josephine fled for the open door, Leto following behind; Anders was a dead weight in his arms, though that brief, hasty glance as he’d swept the unconscious mage into his arms had shown no injury to account for Anders’ state.

They burst out of the burning room to find Zevran in the act of slitting the throat of the second assassin; Dorian was sprawled on the floor, his staff broken in two and the magister dabbing at a bleeding cut to his forehead with the back of his hand gingerly as he sat up. He looked over at the door to his burning room and groaned. Stretching a trembling hand out, he drew on his magic, frowning in concentration before unleashing a bolt of ice. Smoke poured out of the open door as the fire was quenched under the steady stream of ice magic, until finally Dorian let himself fall back with a groan, the fire extinguished and silence reigned.

Leto laid Anders down gently before approaching his _amatus_ , worried at what could have snapped his staff. “Love?” he asked as he knelt next to the magister. “What did they do to break your staff, where are you hurt?” 

Dorian stared at Leto groggily. “I’m not entirely sure,” he confessed. “I was calling up lightning when I saw something flash, the staff... was jarred in my hands... and then it exploded. I think some of the fragments hit me as I was blown off my feet.”

“The assassin struck your staff with both blades as you were about to unleash the spell, I think,” said Zevran quietly. He was methodically wiping his blades clean with a rag torn from the hem of the assassin’s shirt; blood was running down his chest from a shallow gash across his throat, and he was bleeding from several other cuts - on his bicep, across the front of his right thigh, and from a long, shallow but messy cut across his abdomen that would have disembowelled the Antivan if it had struck home instead of merely a glancing blow.

“Well these assassins are dead anyway. Dorian’s room is toast, almost literally,” Leto said as he helped Dorian up to his feet before glancing at his Antivan lover. 

“ _Carissimi_ , you’re still naked,” Leto observed as he made his way to Anders so he could check him over.

“I was... preoccupied,” shrugged Zevran. “You said to attack anyone who wasn’t you. So I did. You did not say anything about pants.”

“Zevran… do not be flippant right now,” Leto said tersely as he called up healing magic and focused on Anders. 

Zevran made to speak but then closed his mouth and looked away. “As you wish,” he said quietly.

Anders appeared unharmed, save for the burns upon his right hand; Leto could feel the effects of magebane at work in his system however - his magic was drained, and he could feel that Anders was utterly exhausted, though Leto was at a loss to explain how. He looked around in bewilderment, and Dorian nodded grimly.

“He threw up a barrier over the three of us just in time, before the grenade exploded,” he explained. “It seems to have overtaxed him however, though I’m not sure why. But he protected us enough that I was able to grab my staff and come join the fray.”

“Bloody hell,” Leto said tiredly before he dropped his hand and sighed. “The only room big enough for all of us is Anders’ old rooms from when he was in charge. It needs to be cleaned, his blood still stains the floor and it’s dusty.” He looked to Josephine then back to the other men.

“What do you think Josie?” he asked before pulling Anders into his arms. 

“I will pass the word and have fresh rugs and bedding fetched immediately, and the room cleaned and aired,” she nodded.

“Likely my blood still stains the floor too,” shrugged Zevran. 

“I’ll have clothing fetched for the Spymaster as well,” Josephine added, raising an eyebrow at Zevran as she went on, as though he hadn’t spoken. Zevran grinned and blew her a kiss; she rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know if your clothes survived the fire Zev,” Leto said tiredly, his mind going in circles as he wondered if they had gotten all their enemies. 

“I am certain I can find something suitable,” replied Josephine. “If you will excuse me, Leto? I must arrange everything swiftly; you will wish to have bedding arranged first I think, so that Anders may rest.” She stared at the unconscious man in Leto’s arms. “He... shielded me with his body,” she added, quieter. “With no thought for his own safety.”

“I’m no one you need to answer to Josie, not anymore. I appreciate whatever you can do for us,” Leto said quietly, his focus on Anders as he worried for the blond mage. “We’ll be in the Rookery until the room is ready.” 

Zevran stared at him, his eyes widening slightly. “No!” he said vehemently. “You will not take anyone to that accursed place!”

Dorian looked from Leto to Zevran, then back.

“Leto... we know what you did to Zevran there. We know what Vengeance did below the Rookery; what he forced Zevran to do. You cannot ask him to go back there!” exclaimed the magister in dismay.

“As you wish, Dorian,” Leto replied before getting to his feet and carrying Anders into the room, but he found nowhere to lay the blond down that wasn’t charred or smoking and damp. He stood there, holding Anders, unsure what to do until their new room was ready. 

Josephine turned to Dorian. “Leto’s office and room are serviceable, as are the rooms where Anders was... imprisoned before, across the gate from Leto’s rooms. There is a bed there. Leto can take Anders to his rooms, and you and Zevran can go to the other rooms. Wait here; I will find clothing quickly for Zevran - he cannot go there naked!” she said.

“No need,” said Dorian. “I can open a portal, and Zevran and I can go there directly - we’ve both been there. You can bring us clothing and food there.” He glanced to Leto. “You’ll want to take care of Anders yourself - but I do hope you’ll permit us to come be with you both once Zevran is decently dressed?”

“Of course Dorian, why wouldn’t I let you come with me?” Leto replied in a flat tone no one had heard from him in years. He hadn’t turned around at the sound of their voices, he just held Anders and waited to see what they needed to do next. 

Dorian’s eyes widened; he had no chance to say anything as Zevran stepped in front of him and glared at Leto’s back. 

“Enough,” said Zeran quietly. “Leave Dorian out of this - and Anders too. It’s to be this way, eh? Very well. Let you and I go up to the Rookery and settle this between us. No need to subject them to it.”

Leto set Anders down on the charred bedding and turned to look at Zevran in confusion, though his voice kept that same flat, emotionless tone. “I don’t understand. You just said we can’t go to the Rookery, now you want to go there?” 

Zevran stared at him flatly. “You wanted to go to the Rookery. Fine. I am going.” He gave Leto a mocking grin then bowed with a flourish. “As my Inquisitor demands.” He turned on his heel and strode towards the door to the Rookery, ignoring Dorian’s pleading for him not to go. He took the stairs to the Rookery two at a time, arriving at the top at a run to burst into the deserted and dark room. He turned slowly in a circle, staring around the shadowed room, and then laughed, high and almost manic. 

And then he waited.

Leto blinked slowly, catching up to what had happened and that Zevran was angry again but he didn’t know why. He walked off, ignoring Dorian’s pleas as he stared at the footprints of the smaller elf as he went up almost in a daze. The warrior heard the tail end of Zevran’s laughter as he entered the room and stopped a few feet from the assassin.

“I’m here, why are you angry with me Zev? I don’t… I don’t understand,” Leto said quietly as he watched Zevran like he was watching an angry mabari about to attack.

Zevran turned to stare at him, his golden eyes catching a stray beam of light which illuminated them, wolf-like as he stood to face Leto.

“You wanted to bring us all to the Rookery,” said Zevran softly. “Even though you know and understand now what it was you inflicted upon me. That other Anders gave you my pain - every blow, every whip cut, the very imprint of your fingers upon my throat. You have seen what I have done in that room far below; can you not feel it in the very air?”

He stalked slowly towards Leto. “Can you not feel the very evil in this place? Does it not work upon you; can you not feel it feeding upon your anger?” 

He was much closer now, still staring at Leto with those luminous eyes. “Feeding upon your very fear?” he whispered.

He lifted a hand to rest it lightly upon Leto’s chest. “Your heart is racing,” he murmured. “You fear me. How strange, after all you have done to me in this place... it is _you_ who fears _me_. It should be the other way around....”

Leto felt frozen to the spot as he stared at Zevran, wondering what had come over the Antivan. Zevran appeared fey, wild; as Leto stared down at him, he saw madness dancing in the slender assassin’s eyes. Something in Zevran had snapped.

Zevran backed away, and then fell to his knees as he spread his arms wide, throwing his head back. “Here I am, Leto,” he said in a voice that was far too calm. “Let us make an end of it.”

He held still, his eyes glinting in the shadows, the blood still trickling down his chest from the wound in his neck, the gash along his abdomen bleeding sluggishly, bloodied and bruised from the struggle with the assassin, kneeling naked in the centre of the room as he had done so often before, waiting for Leto.

The tall elf just stared at him, unsure what to do to assuage the madness that seemed to grip the Antivan. “We just...I don’t want to hurt you Zev. We just made up, last night was ...was beautiful and special; what is wrong? I don’t understand why you’re so upset?” 

Leto backed away until he was out of Zevran’s reach. “Please _carissimi_ tell me what I did wrong so I can not do it again? I want things to work, never again this,” the fighter said as he stared at the other elf in confusion. He had no idea how things had gotten to where Zevran was angry with him, unless it was because he charged off to fight? He kept turning over the last day in his head as he looked at the elf, while that darkness he’d shoved to the back of his mind kept trying to get his attention. Tell him how good the other elf looked on his knees, how he was just waiting for what only he could give him, after all didn’t Zev deserve it? He blinked and staggered back as he fought the urge to give in, do what the darkness wanted instead of hearing the smaller elf out. He stumbled and landed against the door that led down to the dungeon and he whimpered once he noticed what he’d fetched up against. 

Zevran lowered his arms slowly, then stared down at his hands, blinking slowly. He put one hand to the bleeding wound in his neck then stared at the blood on his fingers before turning a dark gaze on Leto. Slowly he lifted his bloody fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, one by one. “Leto,” he whispered. “How often have I bled for you?”

“Too many,” the elf answered slowly before going to his knees and kneeling until his head touched the floor. “Far too many...my love,” he choked out.

Zevran pressed his palm to the bloody wound then smeared the blood down, across his chest, and laughed. “I would have died for you,” he murmured. “Perhaps I yet shall.” He lowered his hands to the floor, and began to crawl sinuously, cat-like, towards Leto, eyes glinting ferally as he drew closer.

“You will not die by my hand, I swore it to Vengeance, and if I must I will swear it to you again. What have I done to make you so angry?” Leto asked as he tilted his head to see the Antivan coming towards him, unsure what was so wrong. “I beg you tell me.”

Zevran drew closer. “What is Vengeance to me now?” he murmured. “This is where it all began, Leto. You said you would take us to the Rookery, and here we are. We both know how this will end, _carissimi_... the way it _always_ ends.”

He was closer now; almost an arm’s length away, and his eyes held a strange, unnerving aspect as they gazed at Leto. He seemed to be somehow staring _through_ the taller elf, and as he paused and rose to his knees, he was smiling - but the smile was less certain now.

“I swear, I’m not going to hurt you! Why won’t you tell me what I’ve done for you to be like this?!” Leto said shakily, fear showing in his eyes along with his confusion and hurt. He blinked as a tear slid down his cheek while he remained still, his head turned so he could look at the other elf but not stare him in the eye. “I’m sorry, whatever I’ve done I’m sorry!” he repeated.

Zevran stared at him then lowered his eyes, putting a hand to his neck again. He trembled slightly. “It... burns,” he murmured dazedly. He lifted his eyes again to stare at Leto, but now beside the madness there was confusion in their golden depths. “Leto... why? Why here? Why did you bring me back to this place?” he whispered.

“I didn’t...I swear I didn’t!” Leto screamed, his frustration and fear finally coming through. 

Zevran flinched as Leto screamed and he recoiled slightly, a flash of fear in his own eyes before he bowed his head and held still.

“I... I didn’t bring you here! You ran up here and I followed. Please tell me what I did wrong?” Leto begged as he remained still, afraid of what the other elf may do. 

“You brought me back to Skyhold,” said Zevran softly, not looking up. “You said we should come to the Rookery. I... I can feel... its evil, I am breathing it in and it chokes me, and... you knew, you _knew_ , Leto, how could you not?” He lifted his head slightly, and suddenly shivered. “You... you brought me here to die, Leto....” 

He stretched his bloody hand out towards the taller elf, his eyes now unfocused and dazed.

“No! No! I did not...no!” Leto yelled even as he scrabbled backwards, his mind unable to process what was going on. All he knew was he had to run away, get away, it wasn’t safe - but he couldn’t leave Zevran in this evil place.

His back was against the door that opened on the stairs down to the interrogation chamber; Zevran was before him, reaching out with that bloodied hand. Leto’s only escape lay in going down - or going past Zevran. 

Zevran laughed, but now it was a slightly disbelieving, desperate sound as he breathed Leto’s name.

“Mythal, take me please,” Leto said as he closed his eyes and waited for Zevran to kill him, or do whatever had pulled the elf into such madness. He was tense as he awaited the killing blow, or the pain of one of the Antivan’s knives, forgetting the other man was naked, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t deadly. 

He felt Zevran’s hand grasp his shoulder, and then the Antivan’s other hand grasped Leto’s other shoulder - just above the barely-healed wound. “Leto,” said Zevran, and now his voice shook, sounding dazed and confused. “Leto, what... what is happening to me? Where... where am I?”

“In the Rookery,” the white haired elf said as he opened one eye to stare at his lover. “Can we go to my room please? You’re scaring me,” Leto whispered, still afraid of what had happened between them. 

Zevran slumped slightly, then nodded as he released Leto and put a hand to his head. He was shivering almost violently now, and seemed confused and bewildered. “I feel so strange,” he murmured. “Help me, _carissimi_ , I... I am not myself....”

Leto started giggling at that, a very wrong and high pitched sound even as he got to his feet and looked for something to cover Zevran with. He grabbed a pair of the Antivan’s pants that had been left aside, next to a discarded linen shirt draped over a chair which he also snatched up, scooped up the other elf and headed back to Dorian’s room. He set his lover down, handed him his clothes before he found a corner and dropped down with that same disturbing laughter bubbling up from him. 

Dorian was knelt beside Anders, who was sprawled unconscious on the library floor a few feet away from the door to Dorian’s room; the magister stared at them, blinking in disbelief as Leto had set a naked, bleeding and shivering Zevran down in the middle of his burnt-out room, thrust an armful of clothes at the Antivan - who clutched them then staggered slightly before dropping to the floor - and then the tall elf retreated to a corner of the room to sit in the ashes and begin to laugh hysterically.

“ _Venhedis_!” swore Dorian as he leapt up and followed after, then coughed on the smoke still drifting in the room. He bent down and pulled Zevran up; he pulled the elf’s arm over his shoulders as Zevran dazedly clutched the clothes with his other arm, and then Dorian started to half-carry, half-drag Zevran out. “Leto, are you mad??” he shouted over his shoulder. “Dumat’s sakes - get out, the room isn’t safe! The ceiling could go any minute!”

He pulled Zevran over to his chair in the corner and dropped the Antivan into it before returning to try and drag Leto out next. “Come on, man!” he urged him, casting a nervous look up at the scorched ceiling with its charred beams. It was definitely sagging in the middle where the charring was worst. “You can’t stay there!”

“Let me die that way, it’ll be funny don’t you think?” Leto replied between giggles, though he remained where he was. 

“Leto!” exclaimed Dorian, casting another worried look upwards as the ceiling gave an alarming creak. “Damn you - there’s no time!” As the elf continued to giggle, Dorian murmured, “Forgive me later, _amatus_ ,” then drew his hand back.

His hand struck Leto’s cheek with a resounding crack that sounded loud in the ruins of Dorian’s room; Leto’s head snapped to one side with the force of the slap. Dorian watched Leto fearfully.

The elf blinked, and he turned to face his lover in confusion. “Did I hurt you too? Why did you hit me?” Leto asked. 

“The ceiling will give way any moment,” said Dorian urgently. “Leto, we have to get out of here! _Please_!” 

“Alright,” he said before he got up and followed the other mage out, rubbing his cheek as he went, stopping to glance at Dorian once they were safely out of the room. Barely had they gotten to the door than the ceiling gave another loud creak then groaned. Abruptly, it collapsed down into the ruin, along with the remaining detritus from the room above; a moment later the floor of Dorian’s room, weakened by the fire, gave way and collapsed into the rotunda below.

Dust and ash billowed up and out of the door into the library; Dorian yanked Leto out further into the library and stared at the dust cloud, a little pale with shock. “My - my room...!” he gasped. “My notes, my research, my - my _clothes_ \- all burned, ruined, gone!”

“You’re still alive though,” Leto said as he continued to rub his cheek, despite the sting being gone.

Dorian’s shoulders slumped and he looked around at Anders, still unconscious. His eyes went to Zevran, who was still sitting in the chair where Dorian had left him, shivering violently and still clutching the bundle of clothes, and then glanced back up at Leto. “What is wrong with you both?” he asked, his voice a little sharp. “Did both of you go mad up there?? He’s verging on catatonic - and likely hypothermic shortly - and you’re frankly not much better and scaring me badly! You have to snap out of it, Leto - Anders is still unconscious, and I can’t get all three of you to your rooms on my own!”

“I don’t know, thought I was going to kill him. I don’t know anymore,” Leto said as he turned to get Anders into his arms, and waited for Dorian to help Zevran at least put on pants.

Dorian sighed then made his way over to Zevran. Crouching down in front of the shivering elf, he tugged the bundle of clothes from his unresisting hands and patiently dressed him in the pants and white linen shirt, pulling the Antivan up to his feet before tugging up the pants and lacing them. Zevran stumbled, and Dorian caught him before he could overbalance.

“Zevran? _Amatus_?” he asked softly.

“Burns,” mumbled Zevran. “...cold.”

Leto headed towards his room once he saw Zevran was in hand. He didn’t stop for anyone who saluted him or asked if the Inquisitor needed help. He simply waited for a guard to open the door before thanking them and moving on.

Dorian watched Leto march off with Anders and sighed. “Come along, _amatus_ ,” he said to Zevran as he gathered up Zevran’s abandoned knives - the long hunting knife and the small dagger.

“Dorian... I am cold,” murmured Zevran. “My... my boots... where are my boots?”

“Same place as the rest of my clothes, _amatus_ ,” replied Dorian dourly. “Burned to ash and gone I fear.”

“But... they were of Antiva!” protested Zevran weakly as he stared at the gaping door, through which dust still lazily spiralled upwards into the library. “They... they were all I had to remind me of my beloved Antiva. And now I... I have nothing. My knives, my boots....”

“I’ll buy you new boots, _amatus_ ,” said Dorian as he tugged Zevran away with him. Zevran gave a last, woebegone look at the empty doorway, then bowed his head and allowed Dorian to lead him away, one arm around the Antivan’s waist as Zevran leaned into his support, head bowed, still shivering.

They followed behind Leto as the tall elf strode on ahead, not waiting for them as he bore Anders away from the library.

Leto had settled Anders in bed by the time they caught up, the blond mage still pale and out cold as he was tucked in by the tall elven mage. Leto had sat on the bed, head bowed as he held a dark wooden box in his hands, fingers of one hand idly tracing the pattern of runes on it while he stared at the floor. 

Dorian glanced around as he managed to get Zevran into the office downstairs, below the bedroom. He glanced up at the ladder leading to the bedroom then nudged Zevran in the direction of the nearest chair before setting his knives aside on the desk and turning to one of the nearby guards to send them off to fetch clothing and food.

Zevran stumbled to the chair and dropped into it, still shaking and cold. He curled up a little, pressing one hand to the wound in his neck which was still sluggishly weeping blood and throbbed painfully. He closed his eyes, tired and drained; he felt out of sorts, as though he were still dreaming and couldn’t wake up. And yet the pain in his neck, his arm, his stomach - the aches of all his bruises; all told him he was, regrettably, awake. His hair smelled of smoke, there was dust on his eyelashes, and his bare feet were dirty.

He looked up and glanced around; he couldn’t see any sign of Leto.

“Well now,” said Dorian as he closed the door and moved back into the room. “This has all been rather much - and on an empty stomach, as well. We should all feel more ourselves once we’ve at least had breakfast - what say you, _amatus_?” 

Zevran stared at him for a moment, then glanced away, saying nothing.

Dorian sighed and moved to crouch in front of Zevran. He gently pulled the Antivan’s hand away from his neck and drew his breath in sharply when he saw the wound left by the assassin’s knife. “Dumat - Zevran, was it poisoned?”

“I... I do not know....” the elf murmured. “I feel cold.”

“You _were_ naked,” replied Dorian, but he sighed. “If it were poisoned, I should think you would be feeling its effects by now?”

“I... do not know,” said Zevran quietly, closing his eyes.

Meanwhile Leto had set the box back on his desk, crawled into bed with Anders and closed his eyes. He figured if he slept maybe he could pretend it was all a bad dream, that none of the morning had happened. Luck wasn’t with him however as he lay there, unable to rest or fall asleep. 

From downstairs he could hear Dorian’s voice, gently coaxing Zevran to take the shirt off and allow him to dress and bandage his wounds, then exclaiming in dismay over them. The Antivan was silent as Dorian moved about the office, locating bandages and dressings, a basin to cast ice into then warm so he could wash Zevran’s wounds. 

Leto didn’t move, he curled closer to Anders as he remained silent, his eyes closed as he wished for sleep to take him. 

Anders stirred and gave a small sigh. “Leto?” he murmured, his voice slurring as his eyes fluttered half open.

“Yeah, that’s me,” the elf replied quietly, he face nuzzled against the other man’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep, we’re in my room.”

Anders gazed around, bewildered. “Where are we? How... how did I end up here? This... this isn’t Dorian’s room....”

“I said we’re in my room, fought off the assassins and Dorian’s room is ashes. Go to sleep,” Leto mumbled as he tried to get the blond mage to settle back down.

“Assassins?” Anders echoed, clearly confused. “Ashes? What - but _how_?” He struggled to sit up. “And why do I feel so weak?” He tried to push himself upright then drew in his breath with a sharp hiss before staring at his burned right palm. “Maker, what happened to me??”

“You pulled the crossbow bolt out of my shoulder, it was coated in magebane and something else,” Leto answered before rolling to his back and throwing an arm over his face. “Dorian and Zevran are downstairs it sounds like.”

Anders stared at him, his eyes widening in alarm. “Crossbow bolt?” he whispered. He managed to sit up, with difficulty, and stared at the palm of his hand again. “Why can’t I remember any of this?”

“I don’t know, you were knocked out so perhaps it’s affected your memory? Everything went to the void and I just want it to stop,” Leto replied.

Anders drew up his knees beneath the covers and rested his elbows on them and rested his forehead on his wooden left hand. “I remember last night - I remember Zevran and I... then waking a little later to find Dorian curled up around me, and you told me to go back to sleep... and then nothing until I awoke here,” he said slowly.

Leto had no answer but he didn’t know what to do. “I have no answer as to why. Perhaps Dorian can tell you?” he said finally. 

Anders shrugged, then sighed. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “Or maybe it’s just... the way things are for me now. I have so many gaps in my memory, Leto. So much was ripped away from me when I... died. When Vengeance... left me. Perhaps this is just part of that.” He bowed his head for a moment, then rubbed his eyes with a groan. “Oh, I don’t know,” he muttered. “Maybe it was concussion, maybe I overtaxed myself some other way - there was a fight, I’m guessing, then? I guess I just went down so hard and fast it wiped out a chunk of memory. Or maybe....” 

He sighed and threw back the covers, swinging his feet to the ground. “I think I’ve given up trying to figure stuff like this out,” he shrugged. “Or mostly. It still bothers me, but... well, memory is a funny thing, and lost memories don’t always come back.” He glanced over his shoulder at Leto. “You said I pulled a crossbow bolt out of your shoulder - was I able to heal it? I’m dreadfully sorry, I should have asked that first - are you alright, Leto?” He looked contrite and worried.

“You healed it, I’m not alright. I kind of… broke earlier. I think Zevran needs you more,” the elf replied, his arm still flung over his face as he spoke.

Anders frowned slightly. “Zevran? What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. He thought I’d aimed to kill him, he even thought I’d brought him to the Rookery after _he_ raced up there after saying we’d have it out finally. I am still unsure what I said or did to him,” Leto said dejectedly.

Anders looked away with a faint frown. “Where were you both when this happened? When he ran off from you?”

“In the library,” replied Leto, not lowering his arm. 

Anders pondered, then glanced in the direction of the library. “And he was fine before that? Before you took a crossbow bolt to the shoulder?” He glanced back down at the blistered palm of his hand. Although magebane usually stung unpleasantly on contact, he’d never had a reaction like this to it, as far as he could remember. “There _must_ have been something else on that bolt,” he said, half to himself. He reached inside himself for his magic, to heal the burns... and felt nothing.

He exclaimed softly in dismay. Now he understood why he had been feeling queasy and his head ached a little - and now he was aware of it, he felt suddenly much worse. He couldn’t understand it though - simply touching magebane shouldn’t have had this effect, unless -

He dropped his head to press his face to the palm of his wooden hand. Of course. Whatever corrosive substance had been on the bolt besides the magebane had burned his palm and allowed his body to absorb the stuff directly into his bloodstream. It must have been potent stuff indeed if just that small amount was enough to drain his mana away.

“Anders?” asked Leto, curious about what had him in dismay.

“I have no mana,” sighed Anders. “Is Zevran hurt, then? You said you were attacked?”

“Josephine opened the door, I jumped out of bed when I heard her enter. Before she could get a word in, I was shot with a crossbow. It had magebane and something else; you insisted on pulling it free and healing me love.”

Leto dropped his arm to look at the other man, anxious at how he might receive what else he had to say. “I decided to sneak over and try to get the attackers, and it became a brawl. I think the one that shot me threw a grenade and that’s what set Dorian’s room ablaze. When the fight was done? I kind of...checked out and...Dumat no wonder Zevran reacted as he did.” He’d remembered using _that tone_ with the other elf; it had never been good.

“It’s... had bad repercussions for him before, then, I take it?” asked Anders quietly, staring at his blistered hand. He felt sick to his stomach now, and it wasn’t just the magebane; it was the sight of his hand, the mental images Leto’s words were calling up, and it was the dread of what he might find when he should finally descend to the office below. He could only imagine the worst as he heard Dorian fussing but silence from the Antivan.

“How badly hurt is he?” Anders said, still in that quiet voice.

“A few cuts, and whatever I pushed him to by bringing him here. He stormed off, thinking I wanted to fight. I...was so confused. I kept asking what I’d done to make him angry. He thought I meant to kill him. I begged and he didn’t, couldn’t answer me.” Leto sniffed as he tried not to fall back to that dark place again. 

“I got on my knees and begged, but he kept talking about before. I panicked, until he realised I wasn’t going to hurt him again. He seems confused, I’m ...I just sat in ashes of Dorian’s room and laughed until he had to slap me. I feel ...I’m …” Leto fell quiet as he struggled with telling Anders what had gone on.

Anders lowered his burned hand and rested his forehead on the cool, polished wood of his other hand. His hair reeked of smoke and as it fell forward around his face, he realised there was ash and char in it. His head was aching in earnest now, and Leto’s words were doing very little to dispel the dread he felt. His mind had conjured up images of the Antivan lying there, shot with crossbows as Leto had been, sword wounds, bruised and bloodied and broken - but what Leto described was no less disquieting.

“The assassins... could they have been Crows?” he finally asked as he glanced back over his shoulder at the elf. “Could their blades have been poisoned?”

“I don’t know. Unless whoever decided to make me a pincushion hired them; then he could be affected. I feel...more tired than I should be. The worst of his injuries seem to be emotional. Potions and stitches should suffice until one of us can heal.” Leto forced himself up to get them both healing potions. 

“Do you want to go downstairs and see them?” he asked as he uncorked a potion.

Anders got to his feet; as he did so, his hand brushed against his hip and he winced at the resulting pain then halted for a moment, feeling something in his pocket. Slowly and awkwardly, his hand stiff and his fingers unco-operative, he managed to fumble out a small vial, catching it with his other hand as it slipped from his clumsy fingers then he stared at it.

“Yes,” he said, nodding as he studied the vial. The other Zevran - Fenris’ Zevran - had pressed it into his hands at Adamant. An antidote, he’d said. “Yes,” he repeated. “I think that would be a good idea.”

He was clumsy as he climbed down the ladder after Leto; the tall elf had to steady him as he nearly slipped. He turned as he reached the bottom and took in what was going on. 

Dorian was fussing over Zevran, who was slumped in a chair, his golden eyes half-closed and dull as he gazed at nothing, still shivering. Dorian had carefully washed the Antivan’s wounds and was trying - unsuccessfully - to persuade Zevran to sit up so he could dress and bandage his wounds. The knife wound to the side of the Antivan’s neck was still weeping blood sluggishly.

“Anders! Leto! Thank Dumat,” breathed Dorian fervently. “Something’s dreadfully wrong; he’s unresponsive and I can’t get that wretched cut to stop bleeding!” He turned to Anders. “Your healing magic is sorely needed I suspect.”

“No mana,” answered Anders with an apologetic look. “Apparently I managed to poison myself with magebane.” He held up his hand, and Dorian sucked in his breath sharply at the mess the corrosive magebane mixture had made of his hand. The palm and the pads of his fingers looked like raw meat, and what skin remained was badly blistered.

“ _Venhedis!_ ” the magister swore.

“Zevran may have been poisoned,” Anders went on. “But I think I may have the antidote.” He tossed the vial to Dorian, who caught it then stared at it. 

“Where did that come from?” Leto asked as he went to the basin to get fresh water and bandages for Anders’ hand. He beckoned the blond over, frowning as he took in the state of his lover’s hand. 

“The other Zevran gave it to me, just before we returned,” replied Anders then gasped, softly, as Leto began to gently wash his hand. He couldn’t hold back as a small, inarticulate pained noise escaped his lips and he closed his eyes, feeling dizzy and sick. “Said - said it was an antidote for - _ah!_ ” He broke off as his hand felt like it were on fire. “Oh sweet Maker,” he whimpered faintly. “Th-that hurts....” He swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk hard with his other hand to hold himself upright, willing himself not to flinch away from what Leto was doing. “Crows,” he finally managed to gasp out. “The - the poison - poison most c-commonly used to - to kill one of their own.” He bowed his head, willing away the pain, focusing on what he was trying to say. “He said... it’s an antidote for it. Thought they’d come after him. Maybe me. Two doses.”

Dorian leaned over Zevran, lifting him slightly as he thumbed the cork off the vial with his other hand. Zevran’s head fell back and he gazed at the ceiling.

“Cold... Leto, so cold,” Zevran murmured. “So dark... can’t see....”

“Drink, _amatus_ ,” Dorian urged him as he set the vial to Zevran’s pale lips. Obediently, the Antivan swallowed, then closed his eyes as Dorian lowered the vial.

Leto called up a little ice to numb his lover’s hand as he worked, a frown remaining as Anders whimpered as he was as gentle as possible with his lover. He tried to tamp down on the anger he felt rising so he could bandage the other mage’s hand without causing another conflagration. 

Anders lifted his head and kept his eyes on Leto as he tried to focus on breathing steadily, rather than look at the ruin of his hand. “Better my hand than your shoulder,” he murmured. “Better my pain than - than your life.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I think I’m going to throw up,” he added.

“Which way?” Leto asked as he moved out of Anders’ way and looked around for something to give his mage to sick up in.

“I....” Anders swayed, and then his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

“Venhedis!” Leto swore before dropping next to his lover and checking him over.

Dorian was kneeling next to Zevran, who was likewise unconscious in his chair, and he glanced over to Leto. “Zevran, I think, is either sleeping or unconscious - Dumat, what a mess! Did Anders faint from the pain? _Vishante kaffas_ \- his hand looked like raw meat! Magebane alone would not have done that - what in the Void would that have done to your shoulder if he had not acted so swiftly?” He rose to his feet and crossed swiftly to Leto’s side, resting a hand on the tall elf’s lyrium-lined shoulder where barely a mark was left on his skin from the wound. 

“ _Amatus_... that might have crippled you,” he breathed. “How... how do you feel now?” He glanced up into Leto’s eyes, worried.

The elf shrugged and glanced down to Anders. “Tired, a bit muzzy and confused. And sad,” Leto replied quietly. 

Dorian knelt down next to Leto and stared down at Anders. The blond healer was already stirring, his eyes were fluttering open and he gave a faint groan as he blinked at the ceiling, bewildered. “Oh,” he murmured as his eyes went to Leto and Dorian. “I fainted. Well, _that's_ embarrassing.” He gave them both a sheepish smile then lifted his bandaged hand to stare at it. “I made a bit of a mess of my hand, didn't I? And no mana to fix it.” He glanced to Dorian. “Did the antidote work?”

“Zevran is sleeping, and his wounds have stopped bleeding, if that means anything?” ventured the magister.

“That's a good sign,” Anders nodded. He looked up at Leto, and gave him a gentle smile. “I'm sorry to be such a worry to you both, love. Not quite sure what happened there; I've had more painful wounds than that, and seen worse ones. Must have been a side effect of the magebane and whatever it was that knocked me out.”

“I think you somehow managed to tap into your life force to throw up a barrier that protected Josephine and I from the grenade,” said Dorian. “How, I don't know - but you likely saved our lives, my friend.”

“Spirit healers can use their life force to heal, but I never heard of one being able to use it when poisoned with magebane,” mused Anders. “Or use it to fuel any other kind of spell. Then again, I've done so much since escaping Kinloch that last time that was never in any of the books I read in the Circle. Not sure I care to do that too often though.” He looked back up at Leto. “I'll be alright, love, after sleep and food. Help me up?”

Leto and Dorian helped him to sit up, and then Leto drew him into his arms and held him close. “You had me so worried there,” murmured the elven mage quietly. 

“Sorry, love,” Anders apologised again. “I'll try not to make a habit of it.” 

“Long as we can get away from people trying to kill us, I don’t think it will be a problem love. I’m sorry you got hurt for me,” Leto said quietly as he hugged Anders close for a moment before taking his arm. “Let me take you back to our room?” he asked with a glance to Dorian and Zevran.

“Don't worry about Zevran; I'll take care of him,” promised Dorian. “I don't think your bed could handle the three of you.”

“You can take me anywhere, as long as there's a bed when we get there,” Anders replied. “Maker, I am so tired.”

“As am I. Let me get you settled and I’m going to get drunk enough to sleep without dreaming.” Leto gently tugged Anders with him so he could kiss Dorian before they parted.

Dorian kissed him gently yet deeply; he cupped Leto's face with his hand and gazed into his eyes with a fond smile, but all he said was “Sleep well, _amatus_.”

He drew away and found himself very close to Anders. The blond mage inhaled sharply as he found his amber eyes caught and held by Dorian’s sea-grey gaze. Hesitantly, Dorian stroked Anders’ face, and Anders leaned a little into the touch.

“What you did... I appreciate it,” Dorian said slowly. “I'm... not sure how things will work out between you and I; you must understand that really, as you are now, you are... a stranger to me. But one that I am already coming to admire.”

He seemed about to say something more, but then let his hand drop with a half smile. “Sleep well, Anders,” was all he said.

“Thank you, Dorian,” replied Anders with a tired smile, before Leto led him away, up the ladder to the waiting bedroom.

Anders sprawled full length on the bed and was deeply asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. Gently Leto drew the covers over the exhausted mage before he turned to the dresser and a waiting bottle of whiskey.

As Anders slept on, Leto proceeded to get very drunk.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris almost recognises the healer, and Denerim's woes are not yet at an end.

Fenris turned and muttered in his sleep, not speaking clearly as he had in the rooms he shared with his spouses. This was unformed words, half of a name here and there while he endured a hellish landscape that his sleeping mind kept him trapped in.

He found himself in a darkened room; a low murmur was the only sound he could hear at first. As he walked forward, the voices became distinct, louder. They were prayers for the dead, softly being repeated in Tevene as he moved forward to what he realized were two pyres; one decorated with the flag of the Chargers, the other with the flag of the Siren’s Call. He stopped short, choked as he realized who the prayers were for.

“No...Aeolus was better, Callus had Anders caring for him. This can’t be!” Fenris said as he came up close enough to touch the bodies with hands that trembled. He let his fingers trail up the flag covering Callus, until he was at the head of his son’s body. The warrior stood there, staring at the still form of his child, his beloved son until he felt tears sliding down his face until everything was blurry, and he couldn’t make out the shape of Cal’s face.

He turned to caress the other body, that of his brother whom he hadn’t had a chance to speak to before he’d died. Fenris felt numb as he kept hoping he would feel the other elf’s chest rise, for him to speak; for his son to do the same and for this to be a terrible dream but it felt too real. 

“Cal...Aeolus, please don’t do this. Wake up, please. Come on, wake up!” he pleaded as he stood there, unable to move but terrified of accepting they were gone. After neither moved, he tried to shake Callus, get him to respond before he slid to his knees and began to scream, the sound echoing through the chamber until he felt hands on his shoulder before he was turned around to stare into amber eyes, just like Anders; but not. 

“Wake up Fenris, this isn’t real,” he heard, but the man staring at him hadn’t moved, didn’t open his mouth to utter a word. 

“My s-son, my brother, I can’t leave them!” he stuttered before he felt this stranger press the tips of his fingers to his forehead and tell him to awaken.

The white haired elf opened his eyes, only to find the healer staring him in concern. “Who are you? You … you told me to wake up,” Fenris said quietly, unable to look away. 

“I’m sorry - you were talking in your sleep and you sounded quite distressed,” replied the healer, looking apologetic. “I couldn’t just leave you like that. Forgive me for waking you - but I thought it for the best.” He ducked his head and glanced away. 

His hair was tousled and mussed with sleep, hanging loose about his shoulders, one sleeve of his loose linen shirt almost hanging off his shoulder, and Fenris got the impression the young man had been disturbed from his slumber by Fenris’ mutterings. This close, Fenris could see that in spite of the beard and the dark shadows under his eyes, the man couldn’t have been much more than his early twenties at most. Once again, Fenris couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something very familiar about him. Perhaps it was the amber eyes.

“Ah, you can call me Fer,” went on the healer with a small smile. “Though the Captain insists on calling me Blondie. Your brother will recover; his fever broke and he should be well enough to drink a little broth tomorrow, I think. It’s a couple of hours before dawn, but you should be able to see him in the morning.”

“Fer?” the elf said as he tried to get out of the hammock and wound up hitting the ground with a litany of swears and aspersions on himself as he got to his feet. Fenris glanced at the younger man guiltily before grabbing the blanket, pillow and turning to find a spot on the floor. 

“I apologize for waking you, and I am grateful for saving my brother serah. If there is anything I can do for you, I’m happy to do so...Blondie,” Fenris said quietly as he tried to get comfortable on the floor under his hammock. He couldn’t shake the feeling he knew the young healer, but considering the young man’s age he didn’t think it possible. That didn’t stop him from stealing glances at the blond and trying to figure it out.

Fer gave him an odd look, but ducked his head self-consciously and smiled. “I’ve had enough nightmares these past three weeks since the plague struck that I’m not about to leave some other poor soul at the mercy of their own.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “I’m just glad I got here in time for your brother. Please excuse me, my mana is still rather depleted and I must rest; there will be many more who need me today.” He gave Fenris an apologetic smile then returned to his hammock, climbing in with rather more grace than Fenris - in a manner that suggested he were no stranger to sleeping in hammocks. Stretching himself out, he tugged the thin blanket up over himself as he threw an arm across his eyes; presently he was snoring very, very faintly as he dropped swiftly back into sleep once more.

The elf glanced at the healer one last time before he tried to sleep, and hoped he could sleep without nightmares plaguing him once more. Instead of death, he dreamed of amber eyes, long blond hair with white streaked through that he clenched in his fist as he kept someone on their knees.

As he tugged harder, the man looked up at him with tears in their eyes, a terrified look as the healer stared up at him but this man was much older, his face more worn with experience. Fenris stepped back in shock as he realized who the healer reminded him of but that was impossible; Arden Hawke had perished for good at Adamant. 

“You can’t be him, he’s dead and you look half his age,” Fenris said to the blond man still kneeling before him. “Why am I dreaming of you now?” he asked himself.

“You slew Nightmare at Adamant but you left me behind!” the healer whispered. “Haven’t you felt guilt, Fenris? Regret? That after everything you did to me between you all, still I died for you?” He smiled wistfully. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“No...you can’t be Arden! He’s dead and you look half his age,” Fenris replied as he kept backing away. “Yes I’ve felt guilt and regret, I’m not a ...not a monster. I’m sorry you died. I’m so sorry,” he choked out as he felt a wall at his back suddenly, keeping him closer to the blond man than he wanted. 

The healer bowed his head and chuckled. “Hal died and came back. Anders died and came back. Why can’t I?” He looked up at Fenris, his hair messy from sleep now, shirt half-hanging off one shoulder. “You’re just afraid. Because if I can come back... what about Hal? That’s what you’re asking yourself now, isn’t it?” He crawled slowly towards Fenris - and now his breath came rasping, choking, as he painfully dragged himself towards Fenris. A trail of blood was left behind him and he was covered in dreadful wounds, just as Fenris had seen Arden last - yet the face was the youthful face of the healer. “F-Fenris... Fenris... look into my eyes and see the truth....” He clutched at his throat, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come; he fell onto his side and rolled over to stare sightlessly at the green sky of the Fade as his chest stilled.

“No...stop, stop! Why am I dreaming of you now?! Stop...please!” Fenris begged as he moved forward to confirm what he’d seen. “Please let this be a dream. Please. What have I done to have these nightmares?” He stared down into the dead eyes of the young healer, then crouched down beside the dreadfully still body. As he reached out to touch him, the body shifted, changed... and then it was Hal lying there, mismatched eyes staring sightlessly in death, the Arulin’holm in his heart as he lay there in a pool of dark blood.

“ _Look into my eyes and see the truth..._ ” echoed Arden’s voice. Fer’s voice.

“No...no. Please, whatever I’ve done I’m sorry. If you’re alive Arden truly I will swear my life to you for saving my brother, I ...can’t face Hal if he somehow lives. I cannot.” Fenris tried to back up but that wall was now behind him, keeping him close to Hal’s body, forcing him to stare into the mismatched eyes. Soon, the only sound was wracking sobs as he sat there, hemmed in by the ugly truth. 

He was abruptly shaken awake to find one of the sailors leaning over him. “’Ere, mate, keep it quiet can’t yer? You’ll wake the healer up!” The sailor frowned at him then shuffled away. As Fenris glanced around, disoriented, he realised he was still on the ship. He could hear the soft, peaceful breathing of the blond healer as the man slept on innocently in his hammock, unaware of Fenris’ dreams. 

The elf got to his feet and shuffled out of the lower deck toward the cabin his sibling shared with Isabela after that. Fenris kept glancing back until he was safely in the room and away from the blond man. He pulled out a blanket from a cupboard before curling up in the same chair the blond healer had been in and watching Aeolus in a bid to stay awake.

No sooner had he sat in the chair than Isabela sat bolt upright in the bed next to Aeolus and then a knife hissed alarmingly close to his head. “Men! Intruder!” she bellowed as she threw herself forward over Aeolus’ sleeping form to spring at Fenris, her long-bladed fighting knives drawn. As he threw himself back out of the chair and rolled away from a rather too-close stab of her blades, he suddenly realised the human woman was near-blind in the darkness and had no idea it was him.

“It’s just me Isabela, stand down!” Fenris replied as he tried to calm himself and shout at her. “I’m sorry, I needed to get somewhere I thought was safe!”

“That’s not going to fucking be my bedroom, Fenris, you utter _arse!_ ” she shouted back at him, just as Avantika and two deckhands ran in, brandishing weapons. “It’s alright, stand down; it’s just Fenris being an idiot - honestly, Fenris, what on earth possessed you? What on in the name of the Maker’s blue balls made you think it was appropriate to sneak into my cabin when I was sleeping? You _know_ I’ve always been a light sleeper!”

“You have things in hand, Captain?” asked Avantika, eyeing Fenris with rather less friendliness than she’d shown him a few hours earlier.

“Yes, yes, go on,” groused Isabela as she laid her knives down on the nearby desk and reached for a night robe. “And tell the cook to brew coffee.”

As Avantika and the two deck hands left and closed the door behind them, Isabela cast an annoyed look over her shoulder at Fenris as she went to a closet and started pulling out clothes. “You were perfectly safe down in the crew’s quarters, Fenris,” she went on. “Certainly more safe than sneaking around in my cabin would get you.”

“I’m sorry...nightmares about Cal and Aeolus dying woke me. Then ...I dreamed of Arden and Hal but I was talking in my sleep, enough that a sailor woke me to keep it down so I wouldn’t wake the healer. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I wasn’t thinking...I’m ...sorry,” he said as he rose to go. “I’ll find somewhere to go and not bother you,” he said brokenly, his gaze at the floor as he made his way towards the door.

“Fenris,” said Isabela quietly, and something in her voice made him look up at her. Her expression was serious. “I know why you might have dreamed of Arden and Hal. Just bear in mind... the healer? He doesn’t deserve baggage being thrown on him - yours, mine, or anyone else’s. A man comes to me and tells me he’s making a new life for himself and doesn’t want any trouble but he earns his keep? I don’t ask questions. I owe a lot to people who gave me my new life. You might want to bear that in mind. The past three weeks have been hell on us all, and there’s been a lot of death. And Blondie’s seen far more than most.”

The elf stared at her in confusion. “Why would I do anything to him? He’s saved my brother. I …I don’t understand. I just want to find somewhere to sleep or sit until I can’t stay awake any longer, please.” Fenris realized how shaken he sounded as he stood in the middle of the darkened room. 

“Just see that you don’t,” Isabela warned him grimly. “Anyway, the crew will be coming above deck shortly. You’ll find the crew’s quarters more than peaceful enough then, I dare say.” She finished tugging her boots on as a deckhand entered to light the lanterns and set coffee on her desk. She nodded for him to go as she sat down behind the desk and drew the ship’s log toward her, flipping through to the last entry as she reached for her coffee.

Fenris left her at peace before heading up to the deck and finding a corner to sit and think. He desperately wanted to sleep but he found his thoughts would not settle enough to do so. He couldn’t get the blond healer off his mind but he dared not anger Isabela more than he’d already managed. 

It was a couple of hours after dawn when the healer came on deck. Two of the deckhands were readying the ship’s boat as the healer leaned against the rail and watched. Isabela followed the man up on deck; she gave him a brief hug.

“You take care of yourself,” she warned him. “I’m not happy you’re going back to that charnel-house - the fires are getting worse, but there can’t be that many people dying now, surely?”

“Not so many, now, no,” the healer shrugged. “Not of plague, anyway. It’s all the other infections that take hold afterwards... the people still need me. _He_ still needs me.”

“You could bring him here,” suggested Isabela.

The healer shook his head. “I’d... best not,” he replied quietly. “And he wouldn’t come in any case. You know where to find me though.”

“Can’t say I didn’t offer,” shrugged Isabela. “Send word if you change your mind though.”

“I will,” smiled the healer tiredly.

The blond man glanced over in Fenris’ direction for a moment, then turned and began to climb down the rope ladder over the side of the ship to the waiting boat below. Once he was safely aboard and seated, the boat cast off and the two crewmen began to row the healer back towards the smoke-shrouded docks.

Fenris looked out and saw the boat with its blond passenger head out on the water, the healer gazing at the dock ahead rather than back at the ship as the early morning sun glinted gold on his hair. He frowned at the healer’s hasty departure, unsure why the man had left in such a hurry after waking. He hoped he wasn’t the cause of Fer going; he hadn’t had a chance to properly thank him for saving Aeolus. The tall elf stared out at the harbour, his mind unable to still even as he let his thoughts drift. 

“The healer could’ve stayed at least for a bite to eat, Captain?” Avantika’s voice came to him as the Second Mate leaned against the rail, watching the boat go.

“Don’t get any ideas, Avantika,” Isabela said warningly. “The healer’s spoken for and has someone waiting for him. Cast your nets elsewhere.” She glanced up as the breeze stiffened. “There’s wind on that rain; a squall’s coming,” she added pensively. “It’ll be here by evening. That’ll douse the fires, I’m thinking.” She glanced to Avantika again. “Send the night watch below to get some rest.” With a last glance around the deck, Isabela headed back down below as Avantika started calling orders for the change of watch.

Fenris drifted off eventually, though it was more as if he’d passed out rather than falling asleep. The elf was out like a snuffed candle, too deeply asleep to let dreams haunt him. He remained as he was, even as he was shaken, his name called over and over until finally he stirred to hear Isabela calling to Avantika to come away.

“If he’s too deep asleep for you to wake him, best leave him be,” Isabela remarked. “He’ll wake when he’s hungry, believe me. Send the day watch below and bring up the night watch, then join Aeolus and I. He’ll wake soon enough when the rain comes anyway, if not before then.”

“Aye, Captain,” replied Avantika’s voice as she moved away.

When Fenris had woken up properly enough to sit up, he found he’d slept the day away and the deckhands had all gone below to eat - all save the few men who would stand the night watch. As Fenris looked around, the first big fat drops of rain were starting to fall, the wind whistling and moaning through the rigging and tugging at the close-furled sails.

“Best get below decks,” Fenris muttered as he made his way down to the galley, and gratefully took the bowl and flagon slid in front of him. 

It was clear the mess was built for far more men; those who were left were a subdued crew, who sat together at one end of the long mess table, talking quietly. Occasionally one or more of them would cast dubious looks in the direction of the stranger at their table before going back to the conversation.

“It’s them poor buggers left in the town I feel sorry for,” one man carried on, gesturing in the direction of the docks with his tankard. “At least we have store and provisions a-plenty, particularly now we’re half crewed; they’ve had nothing fresh in since they shut the gates. Those as has survived the plague might come to wish they’d died of it rather than stay here to starve.”

“Healer should have brought his man with him instead of gone back there to starve; looked like he’s not been eating well since this all started,” nodded one of the others. “Poor bugger didn’t even have breakfast.”

“Not for lack of asking by the Captain either, mind you!” agreed a third man.

“That bloody Avantika put him off,” muttered the first man, and was immediately shushed by the others. “Well, she did!” he exclaimed, indignantly. 

“Keep your voice down,” muttered the second man. “We’ve company.”

A couple of the men glanced down the table towards Fenris, and then all the men turned their attention to the stew and no more was said of either the healer or the Second Mate.

Fenris glanced away guiltily, sure it was his fault the young healer had left them in such a hurry. He was troubled by his dreams, as well as realizing he’d not heard from his own spouses since he’d arrived. He dropped his bowl off before heading to the spot he’d been shown earlier so he could try to raise someone in his family. “Pin...Vic, anyone?” he called out quietly.

“Uncle Fenris?” It was Ellowynne. “Hang on - Pin’s sleeping, but I’ll grab Uncle Vic. Father is fast asleep.” He heard her get to her feet and hurry into the other room. “Uncle Vic? It’s Fenris.”

“Thank Andraste,” came Vic’s voice through the ring as he took it from his step-daughter. “Hey love, how are things there?”

“Better than it sounds like things are going with you. What’s wrong Vic?” Fenris asked as he closed his eyes and let his head hit the wall. 

“Zevran is better, he seems as if he’s going to pull through and hopefully wake up in a couple of days if not sooner. But Cal, he’s still feverish and burning up to the touch. We’ve been doing all we can love, but his fever won’t break yet,” Vic replied, worried for how Fenris would take the news of his son and husband.

“He’s not going to make it, is he Vic? Tell me the truth so I can… can come back and say goodbye,” Fenris asked in a choked whisper.

Invictus glanced to Ellowynne and back to the ring, unsure what to tell his husband. He wasn’t sure that Callus was going to die but he didn’t want to get Fenris’ hopes up either. 

Ellowynne stared at him steadily and held her hand out for the ring. “May I?” she murmured quietly. “He needs to know about my Father.”

“He does but he’s waiting to hear about his son, Wynne,” Vic said even as he slipped the ring free to hand to his step daughter.

“Invictus… he’s not gone already is he? Why won’t you answer me?” Fenris’ voice was strained as he fought the urge to return then and there.

“Uncle Fenris, Callus is much as he was before - which is to say, he’s already outlived every mage who went down with this plague after he did,” Ellowynne said quietly, her voice shaking a little. “Which means that based on what we know of the plague thus far, he has every chance of making a full recovery. I wish the same could be said for the patients my father lost today who were all mages. His students. My teachers. My... my classmates.” She drew a deep breath. “Father is exhausted. Between caring for Callus, _mi Zio_ , all the sick - and drawing pyre duty with those few mages still alive and capable of casting fire magic - my Father has very little left. He still blames himself for every death of course. But I am as certain as I can be that Callus will not be one of them.”

“Let me speak with Invictus, please, Ellowynne,” Fenris replied, careful to tamp down on the ice he could feel in his veins, trying to form around his free hand.

Ellowynne handed the ring back to Vic. “Please assure him that Pin is fine,” she murmured as she made her way back into the room where Pin lay sleeping at the bedside of her brother.

“I heard her, Vic,” Fenris said tiredly.

“What’s wrong?” Vic asked, concerned for the terseness in his husband’s voice.

“I’ve hardly slept, I’m...struggling to control the ice that wants to come from my hand and I’m...I had terrible nightmares while on the ship. I dreamt of Arden and Hal, of all people. The healer...reminded me of perhaps a younger version of Anders or Arden, but it was enough to make me speak in my sleep again. The Second Mate on this ship tried to ...she showed her interest, aggressively and it's brought up bad things.” Fenris sighed as he glanced down at the ring.

“Do you need me to come back? It seems like Aeolus will survive, and his fever is broken but as far as I know he’s not woken up yet. If you need me, I know which ship it is now so I can find them easily. It sounds like Anders needs all of us,” the elf finished.

Vic sighed. “Wynne’s telling the truth, love; Callus is still alive - which from all we’ve seen thus far means it looks like he’s one of the lucky ones. The mages... those that show symptoms in the morning often don’t make it to evening - or much beyond the following morning. It’s decimating them. All our losses last night and today were mages, and... Maker, it’s hard, Fen. It’s hard on all of us.”

“Do you need me to come back for a while?” Fenris asked asked again.

“I hate to ask, but yes love - please come back and help. I can’t get Anders to rest or sleep much. Wynne spoke true,” Vic replied with a guilty look over to his step-daughter, who had returned to her chair beside Callus’ bed and buried her face in her hands, the strain on her showing.

“Let me tell Isabela, and I’ll be back soon. I love you, Vic,” Fenris said before cutting the connection and heading for the Captain’s quarters. Rain was lashing down on deck; he could hear it beating heavily on the aft deck overhead as he made his way to the stern of the ship to Isabela’s cabin.This time he knocked, rather than sneaking in.

“Come in, Fenris,” called Isabela.

He entered to find Aeolus sitting up in bed, Isabela feeding him spoonfuls of broth from her own bowl, Avantika sitting at the desk as she ate her own food. Aeolus gave him a tired smile.

“Your brother told on you,” smirked Isabela as she glanced up at him. “He knew it was you at the door. I had a pretty good idea who it was, though.”

“I’m glad to see you awake brother.” Fenris said as he approached, forgetting about the two women as he stared at his sibling. 

“Glad to actually _be_ awake,” replied Aeolus. “Apparently I’ve been pretty ill, according to Bela.”

“That’s because you were,” replied Isabela with a shrug. “Now you’re not, thankfully.”

“I’m just glad I found the ship and...that you’re going to be ok,” Fenris sounded unsure, almost fearful as he approached the other side of the bed from Isabela. “I was afraid, brother.”

“Bela told me it’s pretty bad dockside,” said Aeolus soberly. “I’m not surprised you were worried. I understand the plague reached Skyhold as well? Thank Dumat you have such an excellent College of Mages there that specialise in healing magic! Denerim needed a blessing of that kind, I fear.”

“Vic… Vic said the mages are being hit the hardest at Skyhold,” Fenris said with a sniff before he sat next to his brother and took his hand. “I’d come to tell Isabela I was going back for the day, I didn’t know you were awake yet. Anders is running himself ragged, and.... Both Zevran and Callus are sick as well. I’m needed but I wish to return once this is all over. I regret my words to you Aeolus, I did not want our last conversation to be a fight if it could be helped.” He looked down as he struggled to keep from crying again, especially in front of Avantika.

“A wise man once told me you should never say something to another man that you would regret saying if they died,” said Isabela quietly. “Then again, he also tried to sell me a bridge in Antiva, so make of that what you will. Still, there’s something to be said for it, and I dare say this plague has left a lot of things said that people never got to apologise for, and there’ll be a lot of regrets over it. Be thankful yours aren’t among them, Fenris,” shrugged Isabela.

“I know...I know,” he said before glancing to his brother once more. “May I return soon, so we can talk, openly, as brothers should?” he asked Aeolus, his grip on the other elf’s hand strong as if he needed to be sure it was real. Aeolus’ grip was worryingly weak in return, but his smile was genuine.

“Best to call ahead to be certain I’m actually awake,” he shrugged. “Apparently the healer said I would need to sleep a lot to recover. Isabela should have my ring though.”

Wordlessly, Isabela held her hand out for the ring. 

“Of course.” Fenris handed her the ring before pulling Aeolus into his arms for a brief hug. “I’m so sorry brother, forgive me please,” he said low enough for just his sibling to hear before pulling away.

“I’ll check in later, I am worried for what I’ll find back at Skyhold,” Fenris said with a nervous glance at Avantika. 

“Sounds like it’s a shame your blond healer went back in such a hurry, Captain - after all, he’s survived three weeks of plague here; they could probably use him up at Skyhold, wouldn’t you say?” remarked Avantika with a casual drawl as she watched Fenris, putting her booted feet up on the corner of Isabela’s desk.

“He has a husband to get back to,” replied Isabela tersely. “And you have duties of your own. Worry more about them and less about a healer. Is that night watch set yet?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” replied Avantika, rolling her eyes as she got to her feet. “But I’ll go up on deck and check anyway.” She eyed Fenris speculatively before heading out of the cabin and up towards the main deck. 

“Whenever I return, I hope not to see her again,” Fenris said as he watched her leave. “Thank you Isabela,” the elf added before moving to the center of the cabin so he could return home. 

“Give my love to Anders and Zevran, Fenris,” nodded Isabela. Aeolus was already half asleep, but managed a sleepy smile for his brother before Fenris vanished, to reappear in the middle of the room where Zevran lay sleeping, Anders slumped over the end of his bed - much as the blond healer had been upon the foot of Aeolus’ bed.

“Venhedis, he’ll get a cramp in his neck like that,” Fenris said as he approached and tried to get the blond mage to get under the covers. 

Anders groaned faintly. “Jus’... just a few more minutes,” he slurred, not opening his eyes.

“Love, you need to get into bed and sleep, not stay slumped over like this,” Fenris said as he got the other man to his feet, and tried to get him moving towards the head of the bed so he could rest with their husband. 

Anders halted. “No, I’m... I’ll be fine,” he frowned. “I just need to eat something - I can’t go to bed right now, I have to make the rounds of the wards.”

“Anders, Vic told me how you’ve overworked yourself. Please get some sleep?” Fenris asked as he tried to get the mage moving again. 

“Did he tell you we lost twelve mages today, Fenris?” exclaimed Anders as he turned to confront his husband, a look of grief in his eyes. “I taught them! They were my students - every one of them, Fenris! I closed their eyes after they’d breathed their last, and only hours after I set thirteen to the pyre myself!” He stared at Fenris, then blinked. “You’re... you’re home... you’re _home_....”

He grasped Fenris by the shoulders as he stared into the elf’s eyes, and then he pulled Fenris to him and hugged him tight as he started to dejectedly weep. “I lost them, Fen,” he cried softly. “I... I couldn’t save them... I lost them....”

“I know love, I know. I wish I could do more than hug you to help. It’s not your fault Anders, its the Void bedamned plague that merchant brought into the fortress and Denerim,” Fenris said as he held his husband close, rubbing his hand over Anders’ back in a slow up and down motion in an attempt to calm him. 

Anders swallowed hard. “How... how bad is it in Denerim?” he asked, quietly. “Your brother....”

“Aeolus is awake, the healer there was able to help. Denerim is as bad, far worse than here. But the ships are keeping others from coming in or going out and spreading it even more. I told them I would return once things are better here. Isabela sends her love to you and Zev,” he added quietly. 

Anders glanced to Zevran. “His fever broke just before sunset,” said Anders thankfully. “He hasn't stirred - but he’s passed the worst now, I think. Callus will make it too; usually the ones that live more than two or three days survive. All the mages died less than a full day after showing symptoms. It’s... just raced through them. Except spirit healers; I guess the spirits keep them safe. Us. We... oh Maker. So many didn’t make it, love. So many....” Anders rubbed his eyes as he began to weep again.

“I know, I know,” Fenris said as he rested his head on Anders’ shoulder. “It’s not your fault beloved, please don’t blame yourself. I’m sorry they were all lost.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Anders’ cheek as he kept holding him close. “Is my sister among the mages lost?” he asked quietly. 

Anders blinked and looked up at him. “I... I don’t know,” he admitted, almost in a whisper. “She wasn’t on any of the pyres today, but... Maker - please forgive me, love, I don’t know! I, I haven’t seen her, but - Maybe Vic....” He glanced around, as if he could somehow conjure up either Vic or Varania at a glance. He seemed bewildered and griefstruck.

“I’ll ask Vic, you need to sleep,” Fenris replied tiredly as he tried again to get the blond mage to rest.

The fight seemed to have gone out of Anders all at once, as if grief had taken all the energy he had left. He allowed Fenris to guide him back to the bed, and he needed little urging to crawl into bed with the unconscious Zevran - his eyes closing even before he laid his head on the pillow, exhausted more than Fenris had seen him in years.

“Sleep well, loves,” Fenris said as he pulled a light blanket over both of them and headed out to the main room, hopeful Vic was present because he really, really needed a bit of comfort himself before he checked on Callus. 

***

Hal ladled stew into the next bowl and handed it to a young elven girl before reaching for the bowl of the next elf in line. The stew was little more than thin gruel, really, with a few old root vegetables and what grains they still had, boiled over and over with water added to make it go further amongst so many. There had been no fresh food in the city for over three weeks now; and though the elves of the alienage hadn’t been as badly ravaged by the plague as the human inhabitants of Denerim, they were slowly starving much as all the other survivors were.

He glanced up as the door of the hall was darkened by yet another person; he felt a sense of relief as he recognised Arden, returned from yet another trip walking the streets of Denerim, bringing what comfort and healing he could amongst those left. The fierce storm that had hit at dusk had quenched all of the fires, and the streets were a quagmire of mud and wet ash - acidic and unpleasant.

Arden removed his cloak and hung it in the porch before removing his boots then entering barefoot, as had become their custom since retreating to dwell amongst the elves of the alienage. The elves had been suspicious and wary of the two humans who had sought refuge in their midst, until learning both men were mages and healers; it was only when they healed the elderly man they all looked to as their Keeper however that the two men were grudgingly allowed to stay; over the next couple of weeks, as death stalked the city, they’d slowly become assimilated into the way of life in the alienage.

Arden came over to join the line of elves awaiting their portion of stew; in his hand he carried a sack. Despite his weariness, here he was just one more mouth to be fed, no more important than any other one there. When finally he reached Hal, there were only meagre scrapings at the bottom of the pot - barely enough to fill one bowl. Hal smiled sadly.

“You take it, _vhenan_ ,” he said quietly.

“We’ll share, as always, love,” answered Arden. Hal made as though to argue, but then relented as Arden handed him the sack. “A few carrots, five potatoes, and two old turnips from winter stores,” he added. “It was all that people had, but they insisted I take them in exchange for healing.”

Hal took them with a thankful look. “None too soon; now we can make more stew. We won’t starve just yet.” 

They made their way to the nearest table and sat side by side, eating their portion of stew together slowly in companionable silence that Hal was finally the first to break.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he said softly. “I worried for you.”

“There was sickness aboard one of the ships,” replied Arden, just as quietly. “The _Siren’s Call_.”

Hal glanced up at that. “Not - not Isabela?” he breathed.

Arden shook his head. “No. Aeolus. It was... touch and go, but I got there in time. I stayed the night, came back at first light and was needed immediately - an outbreak of typhus near the docks.”

“Oh Creators,” breathed Hal. “That’s all we need - typhus after plague!”

“It’s what we were dreading,” nodded Arden. “Denerim is a dying city. I swear, even the Blight didn’t kill this many.”

They were silent as they finished the stew, both mulling things over in their mind. Hal waited patiently; he could feel that Arden had something further to say.

Finally, as Arden sat back from the empty bowl, he drew a breath. “There was... a guest on the _Siren’s Call_ ,” he said carefully, not looking at Hal. “It was... Fenris.”

As Hal drew his breath in sharply, the blond man looked up and laid a hand over Hal’s as it rested upon the table. “He didn’t recognise me, I’m sure of it!” he added hastily. “And I didn’t give my real name or mention you! But one of the sailors told me he’d mentioned our names in his sleep, so I left an hour after dawn rather than risk him realising who I am.”

Hal drew an easier breath; not quite relieved, but not quite so panicked as he’d been. “Does he know you’re living in the alienage?” he asked after a few minutes.

Arden shook his head. “I’m fairly certain he has no idea - and the people here wouldn’t give us away in any case.”

Hal smiled faintly. “No,” he nodded. “We are of the People now.”

“Well, as much as two _shem_ ever can be,” shrugged Arden.

“Arden - what news from the _shemlen_?” called Halaeras, the _hahren_ , from further down the table. “Will they lift the quarantine soon?”

“Bad news, Halaeras,” he replied with a sigh. “Typhus, by the docks. The quarantine still stands.”

“But our people are starving!” protested a woman further down.

“The whole city is starving, Karlynna,” Arden replied. “But I brought back vegetables; we’ll eat for a day or two more, at least.”

“But what then, Arden?” asked Halaeras.

“We’ll do what we can to stem the spread of the typhus,” replied Hal firmly. “Then they will _have_ to lift the quarantine.”

“I pray the Creators you’re right, Hal,” replied Halaeras heavily.

“As do I,” murmured Hal. “As do I.”


End file.
